


Enemies

by alexanderavery998



Series: The Malfoy Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (James was Indian & Lily was white), Angst, Bigotry, Biracial Harry Potter, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Book One, Book One in the Malfoy Series, Bullying, But he will eventually learn the error of his ways, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Conflict, Draco Malfoy is a Brat, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Drama, Endgame Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Dynamics, Gen, Growing Up, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Second Year, Hogwarts Third Year, Indian Harry Potter, Jealousy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pure-blood supremacy, Quidditch, Racebending, Rivalry, Series, The Malfoy Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-06-07 01:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15207722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanderavery998/pseuds/alexanderavery998
Summary: Draco Malfoy has no idea what awaits him at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.Born into a wealthy, pure-blood wizarding family, Draco is used to getting his way. He’s been taught to believe in his superiority, his intelligence and talent, and the ease in which success should come to him. So when his offer of friendship is coolly rejected by none other than the Boy Who Lived, Draco is left reeling. This isn’t a part of any script he’s learned. Unfortunately for him, it is just the first of many unexpected events at Hogwarts...and these events have the ability to define not only his relationship with Potter, but his entire future.The Harry Potter years from a different perspective: Draco Malfoy’s. This is Book One in the Malfoy Series and Draco’s first three years at Hogwarts.





	1. Malfoy Manor

**Author's Note:**

> Content from the Harry Potter series and franchise is property of J.K. Rowling (and her publishers) and is not mine. However, the rest of this work is composed of my original writing and ideas, so please do not use or redistribute it in any way. You can find my works on AO3 and Wattpad under the same username (alexanderavery998). If you find my works somewhere other than these three websites, please let me know, because that means that they have been stolen and reposted without my permission.
> 
> A quick heads-up for future chapters: any dialogue that comes from the Harry Potter series will be marked by special quotation marks called guillemets (« »). All credit for that dialogue goes to J.K. Rowling, of course.
> 
> This is my first-ever series, so please leave comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions if you so desire. ;) I love to hear what my readers think. Feedback encourages me to keep going and makes my day! Thank you, and enjoy!

**PART ONE**

**{Year One}**

“Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy.”

— _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ , page 143

* * *

Excited about the day ahead, Draco lay in bed wide awake as light seeped into the edges of the sky. He considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but it quickly became apparent that this would not work. Instead, he climbed out of his huge four-post canopy bed and threw open the curtains. The tall hedges that lined the walk up to the mansion were still shrouded in shadows, but far off in the distant rolling hills, the sun was rising. Only the house-elves would be awake at this hour, so he had some time to himself before his parents were ready to leave. That meant he could practice Quidditch — not that he needed to. He already knew he would be the best flyer of all the first years.

Draco changed, grabbed his broom, and hurried down the corridor, leaving his room for Dobby to tidy up. The Manor was one of the grandest wizarding properties in all of Britain, so the Malfoys had an entire staff of house-elves, including their main house-elf, Dobby. Draco had never had to clean up after himself a day in his life.

When he reached the stairs, Draco mounted his broom and kicked off from the floor. He let out a whoop of laughter as he zoomed down the curved staircase. When he neared the landing, he pulled up sharply and shot up towards the main hall’s cavernous ceiling. He flew two loops round the chandelier before landing, a smile gracing his normally sour face. Flying gave him joy that few other things could. He couldn’t wait to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team as soon as he was allowed.

“Draco, dear?”

Draco turned to see his mother descending the stairs. Narcissa Malfoy was tall, slim, and pale, with long, blonde hair drawn up in an elaborate plait and eyes the colour of the sky. Behind her was Draco’s father, dressed in sweeping black robes that billowed behind him when he strode in. Lucius Malfoy was even taller and paler than his wife, with a pointed but handsome face, shoulder-length white-blond hair, and grey eyes.

Draco’s heart swelled; he loved his mother and father more than anything else in the world. His mother was fiercely protective of him and his father, as well as loving and faithful to those she held dear. Draco was definitely his mother’s son at heart.

However, his father was his ultimate hero. Not only did Lucius come from a powerful pure-blood family with prestige and wealth beyond imagination, but he was also resourceful, proud, and cunning, with a healthy thirst for power. Lucius had connections to the Minister of Magic himself, but he also told Draco stories about being the Dark Lord’s second-in-command. Draco could only imagine how powerful his father was to have held such a position for the Dark Lord while continuing close relations with the Ministry. His father was harsh on him sometimes, but Draco knew it was only because he wanted the best for him.

Draco wanted to be just like his father when he grew up.

“Draco, dear,” his mother repeated, stifling a yawn, “what are you doing up so early? You need your beauty sleep!”

She fussed about him, straightening the collar of his robes and smoothing back his hair, the same white-blond as his father’s.

“Ah, leave him be, the boy’s just excited,” said his father, planting a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder. “After all, today is the first step in his journey to becoming a respected and powerful wizard.”

Draco felt a surge of happiness at the glint of pride in his father’s eyes. Then the moment was lost as Lucius turned away, absentmindedly running his thumb across the silver snake head on his walking stick.

“I still would have preferred to send him off to Durmstrang,” his father said, shooting a glance at his wife, who was now lovingly ruffling Draco’s hair despite his protests that it would mess up his hair gel. “You know what I think of that crackpot, Dumbledore.”

“Lucius, we talked about this,” Narcissa said, putting a protective arm around her boy. “It’s too far away from home — Hogwarts is much closer. Besides, it’s already been set.” She let go of Draco. “Go put your broom away, alright, sweetheart? Then come back down for breakfast.”

“Aw, Mother, just a few more minutes!” Draco protested, although he already knew the answer to his pleas. His mother gave him almost everything he ever asked for. “I wanted to fly round the garden.”

Narcissa let out a deep sigh, glancing at her husband before meeting her son’s eager gaze. “Oh, alright, but just a few minutes. Then I want you in the dining room for breakfast.”

Draco grinned triumphantly. Broomstick clutched tightly in hand, he bounded across the main hall, out the door, and down the stone steps into the garden.

The garden was one of Draco’s favourite things about the Manor. Dark green hedges lined the wide gravel walk up to the entrance. On either side of the walk, there was an enclosed garden of evergreens, clipped bushes, and an old stone fountain. The pattern of mini enclosed gardens continued around the perimeter of the mansion. The gently rolling hills of the Wiltshire countryside, covered in swatches of trees and hazy fog, were barely visible past the neat maze of rectangular hedges. Draco was extremely proud of the land and the mansion. There was not one home in all of England that could put Malfoy Manor to shame.

A high-pitched screech startled Draco out of his admiration of the Manor. He whipped round, only to be greeted by a majestic albino peacock strutting towards him from behind a tall garden hedge.

“Stupid Albert, you big lump, you startled me,” Draco snapped, although in reality he was only slightly annoyed.

Albert squawked in reply and ruffled his feathers. The peacock was snowy-white from beak to tail, while atop his head he sported a crown of feathers that bounced every time he bobbed his head. He was Draco’s favourite of the Malfoy peafowl, and Draco was Albert’s favourite. The arrogant peacock was only willing to be petted by Draco and loved to scare away visitors by chasing them around the property.

Albert squawked again and bent his head towards Draco’s robes. It suddenly dawned on Draco what Albert wanted.

“Oh, you want some of this, don’t you?”

Draco pulled a chunk of bread out of his pocket, and Albert made a joyful noise in the back of his throat. Draco tossed him the bread as Victoria and Elizabeth strutted around the garden hedge to join them. As soon as Albert swallowed the treat, he hopped towards the two peahens and unleashed his snowy plume of tail feathers with a loud squawk. Draco rolled his eyes and left Albert to his attempt to impress the ladies.

Draco straddled his broom and pushed off into the air. He laughed as the wind whipped in his face and the world grew smaller below him. Nothing was quite like flying. His lifelong dream was to become a famous Quidditch player. He didn’t really care which team he played for, so long as they were a winning one. However, Draco also wanted to be just like his father. At any rate, he knew that with how wealthy his family was, he would never have to work a day in his life. Sometimes it sounded like a lovely future, but other days it sounded like quite a bore.

Another thing Draco enjoyed about flying was that it was a solitary activity, one where he could get away from his parents and the house-elves and take some time to breathe. The fresh air of the Wiltshire countryside brought much-needed colour to his pale cheeks, and flying far above everything else gave him time to think.

Sometimes he imagined that he was a world-renowned Seeker diving for the Golden Snitch to win the game, or that he was fighting a dragon to the screams of an adoring crowd afraid of losing its hero. Other days, Draco wondered what Hogwarts was like. His parents spoke fondly of Hogwarts when he asked them about their time there. They described the Slytherin house in all its glory, reminisced about falling in love, and insulted the other houses. As he flew, Draco imagined becoming a prefect, a famous Slytherin Seeker, and someone whom his peers feared and teachers loved. He couldn’t wait to bring honour and glory to Slytherin and fame for himself, of course.

All too soon, Draco heard his mother calling and landed reluctantly for breakfast. His only consolation was that they were about to visit Diagon Alley for his school supplies. As he ate, sitting with his mother and father and being waited on by house-elves, Draco felt his excitement growing. His future at Hogwarts was finally becoming real.

After what felt like an eternity, Lucius rose from the table and walked to the fireplace. The fireplace had a beautifully-carved marble mantelpiece. Above it hung an intricate gilded mirror. Narcissa joined her husband, and Draco followed her as Lucius lifted an ornate jar off the mantelpiece and opened it to reveal Floo Powder.

“Are we going straight to Diagon Alley?” Draco asked earnestly.

Part of him hoped that they were, but the other part of him wanted to see where his father always disappeared off to during their shopping trips.

“Today we are, yes,” Lucius replied with a glint in his eye, not oblivious to his son’s intentions. “However, someday I will take you with me elsewhere. Diagon Alley is not the only place in England to buy and sell wizarding goods.”

Lucius threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the fire, turning it bright green.

“Diagon Alley!” he said, before stepping into the flames and vanishing from sight.

Narcissa took Draco’s hand protectively. “Ready?”

At his nod, she threw another pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace.

“Diagon Alley!”

Then they stepped into the fireplace and were engulfed in green flames, spinning their way towards wizarding London.


	2. Diagon Alley

The Malfoys stepped out of the brick fireplace and into the Leaky Cauldron, a dingy pub that made Draco’s nose crinkle in disgust. He knew his father didn’t care for the joint, but it was an unfortunate stop between the Manor and Diagon Alley. In particular, his father complained about the impure-blooded wizards that occupied the tables and how much he disliked the old bartender, Tom. Tom reminded Draco of a toothless walnut.

As they strode past the bar towards the lot behind the pub, the bartender tipped his head respectfully in their direction. “Good morning, Mr Malfoy, sir.”

Lucius nodded stiffly in return, not deigning to make a reply.

Outside the Leaky Cauldron, the Malfoys found themselves in a small, walled courtyard filled with overgrown weeds and an overflowing rubbish bin. Lucius tapped a brick to the right of the bin with his walking stick. The brick wriggled before a small hole appeared, growing until it became an archway that the Malfoys stepped through into Diagon Alley. The archway quickly became a wall again as they headed down the busy street.

Although Draco had been to Diagon Alley plenty of times before, it never got old. The cobbled street wound this way and that until it turned out of sight, lined with shops of all sizes, shapes, and colours. Draco’s favourite was Quality Quidditch Supplies. He loved walking through the shop and examining the newest models of broomsticks. Today was no exception. When they reached the shop, Draco strode up to the window and gazed eagerly at the brand-new Nimbus Two Thousands on display.

“Look, Father,” he exclaimed. “They’re the fastest racing brooms ever made! Can we at least go inside to look at them? Pllleeeeasse?”

Lucius let out a deep sigh. “We can _look_ at them when we’re done shopping for everything else, yes.”

Taking his father’s answer as a temporary win, Draco took his Hogwarts letter out of his pocket and unfolded the list of school supplies. Lucius took the list from his son and shooed him away from the display window.

“Go to Madam Malkin’s and buy your school robes. I’m going to get your books, and your mother is going to scout for wands.”

Draco sighed. “Yes, Father.”

After one last longing look at the brooms, Draco walked down the street and into the robe shop. It was dim except for the sunlight streaming through the front windows. Robe displays of every colour were set up across the shop. Draco reached over to touch an emerald-green robe. It was incredibly silky between his fingers and made him wish momentarily that Hogwarts students were allowed to wear robes in colours other than black.

As he moved onto another display that held robes of royal gold, purple, and silver, a squat witch dressed in mauve robes approached him. Draco recognised her as Madam Malkin.

“School, dear?” she asked cheerfully.

“Hogwarts,” he said curtly.

“Alright then, come on over here and Madam Tesdall will get you fitted.”

Draco followed her to the back of the shop and mounted a stool in front of another witch, whom he assumed was Madam Tesdall. The witch pulled a black robe over his head and began to fit it to the right length.

Draco was bored by the whole business until he saw Madam Malkin ushering another boy towards the stool next to him. Draco gathered his first impressions of the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. The boy was about his age, small, dark, and skinny, with a thin face and overly large clothes. The boy’s hair was a mess of jet-black curls, which he unsuccessfully tried to flatten as Madam Malkin helped him onto the stool. He also wore round glasses covered in tape, which Draco noticed with slight contempt — why hadn’t the boy’s parents just fixed with them magic? Nonetheless, Draco knew it was never too early to start making potential allies, so he extended the first greeting he could think of:

« Hello. Hogwarts, too? »

« Yes, » the boy said as Madam Malkin began pinning long black robes on him.

« My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands, » Draco said, hoping to start a conversation and impress him at the same time. « Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow. » When he didn’t respond, Draco pressed on, « Have _you_ got your own broom? »

« No, » the boy said.

« Play Quidditch at all? »

« No. »

A sense of superiority washed over Draco. He suppressed a smirk. He had already known he would be the best flyer out of all the first years, but he hadn’t suspected that he would meet anyone who didn’t play Quidditch besides Mudbloods, and they didn’t count.

« _I_ do — Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet? »

« No, » the boy said again.

« Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, » Draco conceded, « but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — » Then, struck by an amusing thought, he added, « Imagine being in Hufflepuff! I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you? »

However, Draco missed the boy’s response, as he was suddenly distracted by movement outside the shop window. A huge man was standing on the other side of the glass, grinning at the boys and motioning to two large ice-creams in his hands. Draco had never seen anything like him in his life. He was at least twice the size of a normal wizard, with a bushy beard and wild hair that made it almost impossible to see his face.

« I say, look at that man! » Draco said, nodding towards the front window.

« That’s Hagrid, » the boy said. « He works at Hogwarts. »

« Oh, I’ve heard of him, » Draco said. « He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he? »

« He’s the gamekeeper. »

Draco glanced over at him, pleased to hear that the boy had some knowledge of Hogwarts, even if he didn’t seem particularly interested in Quidditch. For the first time, Draco noticed the way the sunlight illuminated his green eyes. _Kind of like the emeralds in one of Father’s Dark artefacts,_ he found himself thinking.

« Yes, exactly, » Draco said, trying not to sound too eager. « I heard he’s a sort of _savage_ — lives in a hut on the school grounds, and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed. »

« I think he’s brilliant, » said the boy.

« _Do_ you? » Draco couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice. « Why is he with you? Where are your parents? »

« They’re dead. »

In all honesty, Draco couldn’t have cared less.

« Oh, sorry, » he said, not sorry at all. « But they were _our_ kind, weren’t they? »

« They were a witch and a wizard, if that’s what you mean. »

Draco was satisfied with his response.

« I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? » he said, a smirk gracing his pale face. « They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, can you imagine? I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. » Suddenly, it dawned on him that he didn’t know if this boy’s family was part of the Sacred Twenty-eight. « Hey, what’s your surname, anyway? »

But then Madam Malkin patted the boy on the back and said, « That’s you done, my dear, » and the boy hopped down from the stool with his new robes. Draco was slightly disappointed in the turn of events, though he was unwilling to show it. He hadn’t wanted the conversation to end so soon. Hopefully, he had at least made a respectable first impression and a potential ally for when school started.

« Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose, » Draco drawled.

The boy nodded. Draco watched him meet the giant outside of the shop and walk down the street until they were out of sight.

A few minutes later, Madam Tesdall announced that Draco was finished and handed him a large stack of new work robes, plus a heavier winter robe, neatly folded and stacked on top of each other.

« There you go, my dear, » she said cheerfully.

Draco dug into his robes pocket and handed the witch the required tender before he left the shop. His father was waiting outside of Flourish and Blotts and holding a satchel stuffed with books. Draco’s mood lifted. He loved new books with their crisp spines and untouched pages. He couldn’t wait to get home and read them cover to cover — not that he would admit it aloud. He would deny it vehemently if anyone found out that he enjoyed reading everything he could put his hands on, including textbooks and assigned readings.

Draco added his robes to the satchel and accompanied his father to Twilfitt and Tattings to get his dragon-hide work gloves and black pointed hat. Next, they headed down the busy street to meet up with his mother, who had gone to look at wands.

The shop did not look like Draco expected, given the general hype over the superior quality of Ollivander wands. It was a nondescript building with the words _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_ in peeling gold letters over the door. The tiny window revealed a single wand on a faded purple cushion. Altogether, the shop was rather small and shabby. Draco wrinkled his nose and glanced at his father, but Lucius’s face was unreadable as he strode up to the door. Draco followed him inside as a bell tinkled from somewhere within the shop.

The inside was tiny as well. His mother Narcissa was sitting in a small chair in the middle of the room waiting for them. Thousands of small rectangular boxes adorned the walls, stacked in neat piles. There was a thin layer of dust upon everything. Draco couldn’t help but feel a bit confused that his parents had decided to buy him a wand from this shop. The Malfoys normally frequented places that were cleaner, larger, and altogether more upper-class.

“Good morning, Mr Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy.”

The soft voice came as a surprise to Draco, whose heart jumped momentarily in his chest, but his parents were unfazed. An old man, his wide, pale eyes fixed upon them, had materialised a few feet away.

“Hello, Ollivander.” Lucius gave him a curt nod.

“Ah, yes, Lucius. It has been a long time since I last saw you, has it not?” It must have been a rhetorical question, as Mr Ollivander continued speaking. “Eighteen inches, elm, dragon heartstring. An excellent duelling wand, although unyielding. Quite the unusual length, I might add. One of the longest I’ve ever sold. And of course, the lovely Narcissa.”

Mr Ollivander moved towards Narcissa, taking her hand in his and giving it a kiss. His grey eyes were fixed upon her face. Draco wished he wouldn’t, because it made him uncomfortable. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a muscle working in his father’s jaw.

Mr Ollivander let go of Narcissa’s hand but kept his eyes on her.

“Your current wand is twelve and a quarter inches, ebony, and rather stiff, no? Well-suited for combative magic and Transfiguration. I remember it as if it were yesterday.”

Mr Ollivander fixed his strange, misty eyes on Draco next, who fought the urge to fidget or look away.

“Ah, Mr Draco Malfoy. How great to finally meet you, my boy. You look just like your father. Let’s see if we can fix you up with a wand, shall we? Which is your wand arm?”

Draco held out his right arm, bewildered that this old man was the famous wandmaker everyone spoke of so highly. Mr Ollivander pulled out a tape measure. Then, letting go of it in mid-air, he turned and strolled down the stacks of wands. As he pulled boxes from the shelves, the tape measure took Draco’s measurements of its own accord: shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, knee to armpit, between his nostrils, around his head. . . .

“Alright, thank you,” Mr Ollivander said, “that will do.” The tape measure shook before dropping to the floor with a small thump.

Mr Ollivander swept towards Draco with a pile of boxes in his arms.

“How about we try these, hmm?” He whipped a wand out of the first box and held it out to him. “Acacia and dragon heartstring, twelve inches, stiff. Unusual wand wood, but it might work well for you.”

Draco took it from him and went to wave it, but Mr Ollivander snatched it back almost at once, holding out a new wand of a similar colour. “How about walnut and phoenix feather, that’s a unique combination. Nine inches and supple. Go on, try it out.”

Draco tried this one as well, but nothing happened. Mr Ollivander continued to take away unresponsive wands and hand him new ones, talking the entire time. Draco wished he wouldn’t talk so much. It was making him more anxious as the used wands piled up in the corner.

“Hmm . . . try this one, chestnut with dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches and stiff. No, no, no . . . maybe this one? It’s blackthorn and dragon heartstring, eleven inches exactly, slightly bendy. Ah, no, okay, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. No? I wonder if this elm one over here would suffice. . . .”

“What’s taking so long?” Lucius interrupted as Draco waved a willow wand in the air, feeling foolish. “Why hasn’t he found a responsive wand yet?”

Mr Ollivander snatched the wand away from Draco and replaced it with one of red oak that wielded the same lack of response.

“Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic, Lucius,” he replied lightly. “And you must remember, the wand chooses the wizard. It just takes a few tries.”

“A _few?_ ” Lucius drew himself up to full height, and suddenly Mr Ollivander looked nervous. “Surely you would agree with me that it has been more than a _few_ tries. I would hate to take my business elsewhere, but you know I will if necessary.”

“Of – of course, Lucius, I would never fault you for that,” Mr Ollivander stammered.

The old man looked shaken. Draco was shaken, too. He was confused on why it was taking him so long, since as a pure-blood and a Malfoy, he had figured finding his perfect wand would be easy. And why had his parents had brought him to Ollivanders? Surely there had to be other wandmakers in England besides this creepy old man?

Scooping up a few boxes at random, Mr Ollivander composed himself.

“However, I don’t believe that shall be necessary,” he said evenly, directing his words at Draco’s father. “I have never met a customer for which I could not find the perfect match. I’m sure it is here, we will just have to try something else.”

After a few moments of thought, Mr Ollivander picked up a box and pulled out a brown wand with a slightly darker handle. “Yes, yes, perhaps this one . . . I have an inkling that you will like this one, Mr Malfoy. Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. Won’t you have a go?”

The instant that Draco took the wand, he knew something about it was different. Warmth spread through his fingers, and as if by instinct, he gave it a wave. Green, silver, and red sparks lit up the dim shop. Narcissa let out a gasp of happiness and clapped, while Lucius straightened up with pride.

Mr Ollivander smiled in relief. “See? Bravo! How wonderful! I knew you would find it!”

He took the wand from Draco and, placing it back in its box, wrapped it in crinkly brown paper. “There you go, Mr Malfoy,” he said, handing it to Draco with a flourish. “May it serve you well.”

Lucius stiffly handed Mr Ollivander seven gold Galleons and the wandmaker bowed them from the shop.

“He was rather . . . odd,” Draco said to his mother as they hurried after Lucius, who seemed happy to put as much distance between himself and Mr Ollivander as possible. “Why is he so famous?”

“The Ollivander family is well-known for making the best wands in Europe,” Narcissa replied. “He only uses three cores and a small collection of woods, which make his wands stand out from the rest. Despite his . . . _quirks_ , shall we say . . . his shop is the only place worth buying a wand.” She ruffled his hair lovingly. “Only the best for my little dragon.”

Draco smiled and held his wand closer to his chest, basking in his mother’s love. He was going to miss his mother dearly when he left for Hogwarts.

The Malfoys’ next stop was the Apothecary to buy basic potion ingredients for Draco. The shop smelled horrible, but there was a variety of things to look at while his parents dealt with the boring ingredients. Draco spent his time examining the fangs and claws hanging from the ceiling, as well as the mysterious things floating in pickling liquid in barrels on the floor. He recognised some of the ingredients from watching his parents make potions throughout the years.

Next, they stopped by Scribbulus Writing Implements to buy parchment, ink, and quills. They bought a shiny pewter cauldron at Potage’s Cauldron Shop and the rest of his equipment — brass scales, crystal phials, and a collapsible telescope — at Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. Lastly, the Malfoys headed to look for an owl for Draco.

Eeylops Owl Emporium was a small brick building with cages showcasing different species of owls. The inside was much darker, full of fluttering wings, large blinking eyes, and soft hooting. After inspecting a large snowy owl and a small fluffy screech owl, Draco decided upon a huge eagle owl with round orange eyes. Its feathers were mottled with browns and greys, while its long ears were tufted with feathers. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he walked out of the shop with his new companion. Now all that was left to do was convince his father to buy him a new broomstick. He was confident he would be able to get what he wanted.

After all, when did Draco’s parents ever say no to him?


	3. The Journey to Hogwarts

His parents said no to him.

Draco sulked when they got home, but it wasn’t much use. Though his mother had seemed willing to buy him a new broom, once Lucius decided that the answer was no, she backed him up. He was very adamant that he didn’t want his son in trouble for bringing a racing broom to Hogwarts. It didn’t matter what Draco said to try to change his father’s mind; once it was set, it was set. However, Draco didn’t dwell on it for too long. He was too excited about the upcoming school year to be preoccupied by a broom that he knew he would eventually convince his parents to buy for him.

Draco named his eagle owl Abraxas II, after his grandfather. Not surprisingly, the family’s territorial eagle owl Nigellus didn’t take kindly to the newcomer encroaching on his territory. So, his parents made him keep Abraxas II in his room, where the owl was free to fly in and out of the window as he wished.

Draco spent the last month of the summer flying on his Comet Two Sixty and reading his new set books. He found all the books interesting, especially _Magical Theory_ , _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , and _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_. He read his favourites cover to cover while closely skimming the rest. Then he placed them lovingly in his bookshelf where he could reach them until September 1st. Every so often, he pulled out the book of spells to practice, although he was easily frustrated when he encountered any difficulties. He also memorised facts from the potions book.

On the last day of August, Draco packed his things, excitement fluttering in his belly. He put his books, cauldron, scales, telescope, and Quidditch binoculars in one trunk. In another, he placed his robes, parchment and quills, wand, and toiletries, including his hair gel and a jar of Sleekeazy’s hair potion. Then he sat on the end of his bed, looking at the trunks and the empty shelves in his room. He couldn’t believe this was finally happening. He was nervous, but he tried to squash it with his excitement. After all, what could go wrong?

Draco didn’t sleep well and awoke early the next morning. He left his trunks and Abraxas II’s cage for Dobby and the other house-elves to carry downstairs. Then he wandered around the mansion impatiently until his parents got up.

The dining room was silent while the Malfoys ate their breakfast. Finally, Lucius cleared his throat. “I presume you have packed everything you need, Draco?”

“Yes, Father.”

“If you find you have forgotten something, send an owl and we will get it to you. Talk to the Head of the Slytherin house, Professor Snape, if you have any issues. If there is anything the professors or Headmaster will not solve, leave it to me.” Lucius set down his fork and steepled his fingers. “Remember, stay on the good side of the professors. Make allies, but don’t befriend everyone, especially not Mudbloods or blood-traitors. It would be beneficial to impress Harry Potter, as well, if you have a chance to meet him. He should be at Hogwarts, he’s about your age. And remember the possibility that he could be a Dark wizard in the making. After all, how else could he have killed the Dark Lord? But of course,” Lucius added sharply, “these sentiments are not to be expressed outside of our family and friends. You wouldn’t want to get us in trouble with the Ministry.”

It seemed to Draco as though his father was trying to get in as much advice as possible. He wasn’t sure whether to feel annoyed, thankful, nervous, or all three at once. His stomach twisted unwillingly. He put down his fork and pushed back his plate.

“I think I’m full,” he muttered.

As if on cue, the house-elves skittered in to clear the plates away and bring in Draco’s trunks and owl cage. The Malfoys gathered around the fireplace as Draco tried to squash the nervousness fluttering in his belly.

Lucius put a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder. “We’re meeting up with the Notts and the Crabbes before you get on the train. Don’t forget to take advantage of acquaintances and friends you already have, like Theodore and Vincent.”

Narcissa gently squeezed Draco’s other shoulder as if she sensed his anxiety. “Don’t worry, my little dragon. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

Lucius tossed a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace, grabbed Draco’s trunks, said, “King’s Cross, platform nine and three-quarters!” and disappeared into the flames.

Draco picked up Abraxas II’s cage, and Narcissa took his free hand. Then they tossed in Floo Powder and stepped into the flames. After an uncomfortable amount of spinning, Draco stumbled out of the fireplace and stopped dead, his eyes widening in awe.

There was so much going on that Draco didn’t know where to look first. The sign for the Hogwarts Express hung overhead, while students milled around a huge scarlet steam engine by the platform, saying goodbye to their parents and greeting old friends. The air was filled with the sound of owls hooting, cats meowing, trunks scraping across the ground, squeaky trolley wheels, and magical folk chattering excitedly. Meanwhile, the first few compartments of the train were filling up with students.

Lucius threw Draco’s trunks onto a trolley cart and placed Abraxas II’s cage on top. Then he strode towards two families waiting off to the side, Draco and Narcissa hurrying after him.

“Nott, Crabbe, good to see you,” he said as they approached, nodding to the fathers in turn.

While the adults made polite conversation, Draco was left to talk with the families’ sons, Theodore Nott and Vincent Crabbe. He knew them already, as the Malfoys, Notts, and Crabbes ran in the same pure-blood, ex-Death Eater circles. However, he wasn’t a huge fan of either of them. He had begrudging respect for Nott, who was at least intelligent, but Crabbe was about as bright as a guttering candle. The only thing Crabbe had going for him was that he was physically imposing. Draco had a good mind to keep him around. Crabbe was extremely large, with a thick neck, gorilla-like arms, and a bowl cut. Nott was stringier in appearance, tall and thin with a rabbit-like face.

After greeting each other, Draco and the boys set off through the crowd with their trolleys, loading one of the middle compartments with their trunks. When they finished, Draco glanced out the window to see that the Goyle family had joined his parents.

The Goyle’s son, Gregory, broke off from the adults and lumbered towards them. Draco knew him already, too, for the same reason as Nott and Crabbe. If Crabbe was as bright as a guttering candle, then Goyle was as bright as an unlit candle in a dark cave. He was slightly taller than Crabbe, with broad shoulders, long burly arms, and short bristly hair. Draco considered keeping Goyle around for the same reason as Crabbe: they were perfect bodyguards because of their size, and perfect henchmen because they were too stupid to think for themselves.

Once the trunks were settled, the boys descended the train to say goodbye to their parents. Narcissa must have noticed Draco’s hesitance to say goodbye, for she immediately scooped him up into a huge, albeit embarrassing, hug and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“Mother!” he protested, wriggling away from her, although he was secretly pleased.

“Oh, do be careful, Draco,” Narcissa said, pulling away and looking at her boy with a proud but worried expression. “Watch out for yourself, be a good boy, and write home as often as you can. Your father and I will send loads of owls.”

“I’ll be fine, Mother, I promise,” Draco said, although he wasn’t sure exactly who he was trying to convince.

Lucius placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder and gave it squeeze. “Have a good term,” he said gruffly. “Don’t get into too much trouble and remember everything I said. I’m expecting great things from you.”

Draco swallowed, attempting to rid his throat of the lump that had formed there. “Yes, Father. I’ll write home often.”

Draco mounted the train and leaned out the compartment window. A whistle sounded at the front of the train, and the crowd began to thin as students hurried to get on the train. They hung out of the windows, frantically finishing their farewells, while some of the younger siblings began to cry.

The train began to move. His last sight of his parents was them standing next to Nott’s father and waving goodbye, Lucius’s free arm around Narcissa’s shoulder. Then the train rounded a corner and they were gone.

The boys changed into their Hogwarts robes right away. As the Hogwarts Express carried them out of London and past fields of grazing cows and sheep, they told each other about their summers. Draco was in the middle of a long story involving him escaping on broomstick from Muggles in a helicopter when a cheerful witch with a trolley cart opened the compartment door.

“Anything off the cart, dears?”

Draco got up, strategically flashing his large pouch of gold at the other boys before buying handfuls of Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, and Cauldron Cakes. Crabbe bought some of everything on the cart, while Nott declined the offer and Goyle mooched off the pile that Crabbe brought back.

The compartment fell silent as the boys ate their food. Crabbe finished first, although he had by far the most to eat, and fell asleep quickly. He snored loudly, and his mouth hung open in a very unflattering manner. Nott muttered something about wanting peace and quiet. Picking up a book, he left the compartment. That left Draco and Goyle to sit in relative silence, besides Crabbe’s snoring, and watch the countryside go by. As the hours passed, the scenery turned from neat fields to woods, rivers, and rolling hills. Draco was close to dozing off from boredom when the compartment door slid open and Nott came in, followed by a girl. The two of them were so loud that Crabbe and Goyle woke up.

“Malfoy, you’ll never guess what I just heard!” Nott exclaimed.

Draco yawned and stretched slowly. “What is it?”

“It’s Harry Potter! They say he’s on this train!”

Draco bolted upright in his seat. “What? Harry Potter?”

Try as he might, Draco couldn’t hide the shock and excitement he felt from creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, I’ve heard he’s in the third to last compartment at the back,” said the girl behind Nott. “I wonder if he really has the scar?”

Draco beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle.

“I want to see if it’s really him,” he said quietly as they leaned in. “Father said I should get to know him, anyway.” A thrill went through Draco. If Harry Potter was a Dark wizard in the making like his father hoped, this could be his chance to offer Potter his friendship and gain a valuable ally in return. “Let’s go.”

With Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, Draco stood up and made his way down the train. With every step, he could feel his excitement growing, though he made sure to mimic his father’s air of indifference. This was his chance to finally meet the boy who was so strong that he defeated the Dark Lord, whom nobody else could vanquish! Oh, wait until he could write home and tell Father that he was friends with the Boy Who Lived! He almost felt nervous, although he squashed it by snapping at Crabbe to stop dragging his feet because the sound was giving him a headache.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the rumoured compartment. Draco stopped for a moment to straighten his robes and glance at himself in the reflective glass of the compartment door. _I have nothing to worry about_ , he told himself sternly, and he could feel the instant relaxing effect of those words. He was right, of course; his reflection smiled back at him as he composed himself. Why wouldn’t Potter want to be his friend? Draco had much to offer: money, prestige, power . . . what more could the boy want? Pushing his anxiety to the back of his mind, Draco motioned to Crabbe and Goyle and slid open the compartment door.

To his surprise, his eyes landed on the boy he had met at Madam Malkin’s, who was sitting with a tall, gangling boy with bright red hair and lots of freckles. They were surrounded by treats from the trolley witch. Their trunks were tucked in the corner of the compartment. Draco didn’t hide his interest as he looked Potter up and down, from his Muggle clothes and the crooked glasses perched upon his nose, to the mop of black curls covering his forehead and his green eyes behind slightly scratched lenses.

« Is it true? » Draco said, ignoring the redhead completely. « They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it? »

« Yes, » said the boy from Madam Malkin’s, eyeing Draco’s friends nervously.

Draco felt a surge of satisfaction. He had chosen his new allies well if they elicited such a response from the Boy Who Lived.

« Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle, » he said as carelessly as he could, gesturing to each in turn. « And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. »

The redheaded boy let out a cough that couldn’t disguise his snicker. Draco felt a pang of indignation and anger before it dawned on him that he must be a relation of the Weasley family. It would certainly explain the red hair and general appearance of malnourishment. However, the real question was why Potter was hanging out with a blood-traitor.

« Think my name’s funny, do you? » Draco said coldly, deigning to look at the redhead for the first time. « No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford. »

Draco knew he had hit his mark by the way the boy’s face turned maroon. Turning back to Potter, he said confidently, « You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there. »

He held out his hand.

But Potter didn’t take it. Instead, he raised his chin and said coolly, « I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks. »

Inside, Draco was reeling from shock, but he chomped on his tongue and willed himself to stay calm as heat spread across his cheeks. Was Potter really refusing his offer? How could he prefer the company of a _Weasley_ over a Malfoy? He had done everything exactly the way his father would have, so why was everything going so wrong? He had to fix this somehow.

What would his father do?

Choosing his words deliberately, Draco said slowly, « I’d be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you. »

It had the wrong effect. Potter and Weasley were on their feet in an instant.

« Say that again, » Weasley said, his face turning redder than his hair.

« Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you? » Draco sneered, hoping the boys couldn’t tell that his heart rate was rapidly accelerating. Thank Merlin he had Crabbe and Goyle with him; he’d been right in assuming they’d be useful.

« Unless you get out now, » Potter said. Draco was surprised by how brave he sounded.

« But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys? » Draco glanced towards his allies, silently begging them to do something. « We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some. »

Goyle chuckled and reached for the pile of Chocolate Frogs. Weasley moved to intercept him, but before he could, Goyle yelled loudly and held up his hand, his eyes watering. A fat grey rat with patchy fur had sunk its sharp little teeth into one of Goyle’s knuckles.

_Oh, gross!_ Draco thought, his stomach lurching. _There are rats on this train?!_

Horrified and disgusted, Draco backed away, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Crabbe was doing the same. Howling with pain and fear, Goyle swung his arm round and round until the rat flew off and hit the darkening window with a thud. Then Draco turned and fled. Crabbe and Goyle followed suit, Goyle cradling his bloody hand and whimpering. They passed a girl with bushy brown hair on her way to Potter’s compartment, but they didn’t linger long enough for Draco to see any more of her.

“Stupid Potter,” he muttered as they weaved through students pulling on their robes. “He must think he’s hot stuff with his stupid scar, already friends with that stupid Weasley. Did you see his glasses?” he added in a louder voice to Crabbe and Goyle, trying to sound condescending, instead of completely rattled and miffed by the rejection. “Not even properly repaired with magic.”

Crabbe and Goyle murmured their agreements, but this almost irritated Draco more. He could already tell that while having the two of them around would be beneficial, they weren’t anywhere close to having the intellectual prowess to become his true friends. What he wanted was an intellectual equal, someone who he could have a connection with like he did his family. What he had wanted was Potter’s friendship, but it was apparent that he had somehow screwed up. Draco had been given a chance to befriend him, and he’d failed.

Draco gritted his teeth together as he reached his compartment. No, he couldn’t think of it like that. He had been the one to give Potter a chance, and it was Potter who hadn’t taken it. He was nothing like he had imagined. It infuriated him to his core. Draco had dreamed of becoming his friend off and on for years, and Potter had dashed his dream to pieces in a few seconds. Who did he think he was, acting as if he had things all figured out? Well, Draco would show him. The Boy Who Lived was going to sorely regret that he had ever rejected Draco Malfoy.

“So? Did you meet him? Does he really have the scar?”

The girl who had come in with Nott was waiting for them, perched on the edge of her seat. Draco eyed the girl hesitantly. She had dark hair cropped into a bob and what looked like brown eyes in the quickly darkening compartment. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. What was he supposed to do? The last thing he wanted was to admit that Potter had rejected his offer of friendship after only minutes of conversation, and for a blood-traitor, no less. He was still reeling from what had happened and having trouble processing it. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, when the train intercom clicked on and saved him.

« We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, as it will be taken to the school separately. »

“Oh, look at that,” Draco said. “We’re here.”

Turning away, he followed the crowd of students flocking to the front of the train with Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott in tow. As the students gathered together, the train slowed to a stop. Students pushed their way out of the train and stood in little groups on the platform, shivering in the chilly night air. Draco allowed himself to be pushed along with the crowd across the platform and out of the station onto a winding village road. It was very dark, but Draco thought he could make out the forms of mountains in the distance.

Suddenly, a bright light came bobbing towards them.

« Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! »

The lantern turned towards Draco, and to his surprise, it was held by the giant that he had seen during his trip to Diagon Alley.

« C’mon, follow me — any more firs’ years? » Hagrid boomed. « Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me! »

With a glance at Nott, Draco reluctantly followed the stream of first years traipsing after the giant brute. He didn’t want to be told what to do by something like Hagrid, but he supposed he didn’t have a choice. Hagrid led the first years off the paved road and down a narrow dirt trail, flattened from years of travel. It was so dark on either side of the path that Draco feared there were woods full of horrible beasts surrounding them. He made sure to stay very close to Crabbe and Goyle, his heartbeat quickening at every odd sound. It didn’t help that no one was talking, so it was quiet enough to hear the rustling of hungry creatures in the darkness.

« Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec, jus’ round this bend here, » Hagrid called from the front of the pack.

As the path opened up, Draco gasped in awe. In front of them stretched a great black lake glittering with starlight. High above their heads and on the other side of the lake, the majestic Hogwarts castle stretched up to touch the sky. It had dozens of elaborate turrets and towers, its windows glowing with warm yellow lamplight. Its beauty took Draco’s breath away.

« No more’n four to a boat! » Hagrid said, interrupting Draco’s reverie.

He was pointing to the edge of the lake, where a fleet of little boats waited by the shore. Hagrid took up an entire boat by himself, while Draco was joined in his boat by Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott.

« Everyone in? » Hagrid said. « Right then — FORWARD! »

The boats followed his command. The students gazed in awe at the approaching castle as the boats glided across the lake. The castle stood on a cliff. It appeared that they were sailing directly to the cliff face. Draco’s boat was one of the first in line. As they approached the cliff, Hagrid yelled, « Heads down! »

Confused, the boys complied. The boats sailed through ivy that Draco had thought was covering stone and entered a dark tunnel. Draco wondered if they were traveling underneath the castle. Soon, the boats reached a rocky underground harbour, where everyone scrambled out and looked around while Hagrid checked the boats.

« Oy, you there! » said Hagrid, pointing to a short boy with a round face. He held up something squishy and wriggling. « Is this your toad? »

Draco snorted as the boy exclaimed, « Trevor! » and held out his hands, looking far too happy to have his toad back.

The first years followed Hagrid up a passageway in the rock that was narrow enough to make Draco feel claustrophobic. Eventually, they came out at the top of the cliff in the smooth, damp grass in the shadow of the castle. They followed Hagrid out of the grass and up a grand flight of stone steps that led to a majestic oak door. The door was so huge that even Hagrid could’ve fit through it without ducking. Suddenly, Draco felt nervous again.

Hagrid turned towards the first years.

« Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad? »

After receiving an affirmative answer, Hagrid raised one of his huge hands and rapped on the door three times. Draco took in a deep breath.

This was it. His time at Hogwarts was finally beginning.


	4. The Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I know readers might ask about this, my description of the Slytherin common room is similar to the description given in Ch. 12 of COS, but with minor alterations. For example, COS doesn't mention that the Slytherin common room is under the lake. The only book detail I can find on that is Harry's comment to the Snatchers in Ch. 23 of DH, which was written after the movie franchise started. Consequently, I left that out, although I may consider adding it in the future. Everything else (the carved torch sconces, the layout of the dormitories, etc.) was created by me and is original work.
> 
> Also, for the savvy readers who will inevitably count the number of students in each house and say, "Wait a minute, Avery, some houses got more or less than five girls and five boys! What gives?", I have always found it unrealistic that every house would get exactly five girls and five boys each year, since house placement is determined by personality, not room availability. So, in addition to a handful of OCs (Jeong, one of MacDougal twins, Newton, Song, and Stern), there are slightly different numbers of students in each house. Enjoy, and please remember to leave comments/kudos if you so desire!

As soon as Hagrid finished knocking, the door swung open to reveal a tall witch with her lips drawn taut in a stern expression. She was wearing square-rimmed glasses, emerald green robes, and a pointed black hat. Draco shifted uncomfortably as her eyes grazed over the first years. Had her eyes briefly lingered on him and hardened, or had he imagined it?

« The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall, » Hagrid said, seemingly unbothered by the witch’s demeanour. Draco wondered if she was always like this.

« Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here. »

Turning on her heel, Professor McGonagall disappeared into the castle, not waiting for the first years. The students hurried after her. Regardless of how grand the Manor was, Draco was in awe of Hogwarts already. The entrance hall was at least twice the size of the Malfoys’ main hall, with a ceiling so high it was lost in darkness. Flaming torches sat in sconces along the walls and the floor was made of smooth flagged stone, while around two dozen doors led off to chambers on either side of the hall. Facing them a few hundred feet away, a wide marble staircase led to the upper floors, shrouded in darkness.

Professor McGonagall didn’t stop to let the first years ogle at their surroundings. She passed a double doorway to the right where Draco assumed the rest of the students were, given the amount of noise coming from it, and instead opted for a single doorway on the opposite side of the hall, which opened into a small empty chamber. As soon as the first years had crowded in, she launched into a quick speech.

« Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. »

She paused, her eagle-like eyes raking across the first years, before continuing. « The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. »

Draco was quick to notice that Professor McGonagall’s eyes lingered on more than one first year after her last statement. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his robes, hoping that his hair was as neat as it had been on the train.

« I shall return when we are ready for you, » said Professor McGonagall. « Please wait quietly. »

With that, she left the chamber. Whispering broke out amongst the first years immediately.  _ Which house was most desirable? How were students sorted, exactly? Would they need any spells or prior knowledge of magic to be sorted? Did it happen in front of the entire school or individually in a separate room? _ The questions were coming from students farther away from him; Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to wonder about anything except for when they would eat next. One girl was whispering frantically about all the spells she already knew and which ones she thought were most likely to be used. Draco noticed with amusement that she was making the students around her more nervous — not that he was nervous or anything. He quickly tried to squash the anxiety in his stomach.

Suddenly, a few students screamed, causing Draco to start and turn around. He was met with the sight of over a dozen pearly-white ghosts streaming through the chamber wall, arguing amongst themselves.

A short fat monk with a jolly face was speaking, sounding as though he was trying to keep his calm. « Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance — »

A ghost wearing an Elizabethan white ruff and dark tights interrupted him. « My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not even really a ghost — » Suddenly, he stopped and noticed the first years, who were looking up at the ghosts with huge eyes. « I say, what are you all doing here? »

Silence greeted his question.

« New students! » exclaimed the Fat Friar, beaming down at them. « About to be sorted, I suppose? »

Draco avoided eye contact with the ghosts, but he noticed a few students nodding in response.

The Friar nodded back, bobbing up and down slightly as he did so. « Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know. »

Draco shuddered inwardly. He would die before he would willingly be sorted into Hufflepuff. Just then, the chamber door swung open.

« Move along now, » Professor McGonagall said sharply to the ghosts. « The Sorting Ceremony is about to start. »

Resuming their argument about Peeves, whoever (or whatever) that was, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

Professor McGonagall turned to the first years. « Now, form a line and follow me. »

Draco fell into line with Nott in front of him and Crabbe and Goyle behind him. The students followed Professor McGonagall to the pair of double doors they had passed earlier and into the Great Hall.

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. Four long tables stretched before them. Floating above the tables, thousands of flickering candles illuminated the hall, and far above everything else was the starry ceiling. It looked as though it opened into the heavens. At the top of the hall past was another long table, where all the professors except for Professor McGonagall were sitting. In the middle, Draco recognised the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, sitting in a large gold chair and watching the first years intently over his steepled fingers. Near the end of the table, he saw the Head of the Slytherin house, Professor Severus Snape.

As the first years entered, the chatter died down. Hundreds of faces, pale in the flickering candlelight, turned towards them. Draco felt a surge of nervousness. The scrutiny from the other students continued as the first years followed Professor McGonagall to the area in front of the professors’ High Table. Draco barely had time to notice that the ghosts had joined the feast before Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years and topped it with a pointed hat, frayed, dirty, and worn from age.

The chatter fell from a low rumble to silence in seconds. Draco followed everyone’s gaze to the hat. Suddenly, the hat twitched and broke out into song, describing the traits of each house and how it would decide where each student should be. As soon as the hat was finished singing, the hall broke out into loud applause. The hat bowed to each table in turn before becoming silent and still again. While the other first years around him shifted uneasily, Draco felt his nervousness subside. Trying on a stupid old hat was much easier than showing off the spells he’d already learned in front of the entire school. He felt relieved. After all, his sorting was a done deal: all of his family had been in Slytherin, so he knew he would be, too.

Professor McGonagall pulled out a long roll of parchment. « When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah! »

A girl with blonde pigtails stumbled to the stool and put the hat on her head, which was so big it fell over her eyes. There was only a moment’s pause before the hat twitched and shouted, « HUFFLEPUFF! »

The table second from the right cheered and clapped, greeting Hannah as she went over to the Hufflepuff table and sat down.

« Bones, Susan! »

Once again, the hat shouted, « HUFFLEPUFF! »

« Boot, Terry! »

« RAVENCLAW! »

This time, the table second from the left cheered and clapped, greeting Boot with warm smiles and handshakes.

« Brocklehurst, Mandy! »

“RAVENCLAW!”

« Brown, Lavender! »

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The table on the far left exploded into rambunctious cheers upon receiving their first new student. Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste; of course the Gryffindor table would try to outdo the other houses in how loud they could cheer. They always had to try to be better than everyone else.

« Bulstrode, Millicent! »

“SLYTHERIN!”

Draco felt a surge of excitement as the table on the far right cheered and clapped. He couldn’t wait until he was sitting over there with them.

“Corner, Michael!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Crabbe, Vincent!”

Crabbe lumbered forwards and sat down on the stool. It creaked dangerously under his weight as he settled the hat on his head. After several seconds of deliberation, the hat shouted,

“SLYTHERIN!”

As Crabbe lumbered off to sit at the Slytherin table, Draco made a mental note of where he was sitting so that he could join him after his sorting.

“Davis, Tracey!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

« Finch-Fletchley, Justin! »

« HUFFLEPUFF! »

« Finnigan, Seamus! »

This time, the hat took almost a minute to deliberate before it shouted,

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Goldstein, Anthony!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Goyle, Gregory!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

A sudden horrible thought struck Draco as Goyle lumbered off to sit at the Slytherin table. What if he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin? No, it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t possible. He quickly pushed the thought away.

« Granger, Hermione! »

The girl scurrying up to the stool was the same girl who had been muttering spells under her breath in the other chamber. After a look at her bushy hair and brown skin, Draco decided she was also the same girl he’d passed while leaving Potter’s compartment on train. However, he didn’t want to think about Potter. Instead, he watched the girl jam the hat eagerly on her head.

« GRYFFINDOR! » the hat shouted.

Draco felt a twinge of disappointment. The girl seemed clever and pretty; part of him had hoped she would end up in Slytherin with him. However, he supposed that if she wasn’t sorted into Slytherin, it must’ve been for a good reason. Perhaps she wasn’t a pure-blood?

“Greengrass, Daphne!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Hopkins, Wayne!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Jeong, Esther!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Jones, Megan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Li, Sue!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Longbottom, Neville!”

The boy who had lost his toad stepped out of line and promptly fell on his face. Draco snickered at the boy’s misfortune as he scrambled to get up and sit on the stool. The hat took forever to decide where to place him. Draco was almost convinced that the poor dunderhead would be placed in Hufflepuff when the hat finally shouted,

« GRYFFINDOR! »

Neville ran to the Gryffindor table but forgot to take off the hat. By the time he realised his mistake and jogged back to hand it to Irvin MacDougal (who was sorted into Ravenclaw, along with his twin sister, Morag), the entire hall was laughing. He sat down at the Gryffindor table, his face beet red.

“Macmillan, Ernest!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Malfoy, Draco!”

A surge of nervousness shot through his veins at the sound of his name. The fleeting worry that he wouldn’t be sorted into Slytherin came back in full force as every head in the Great Hall turned towards him.  _ Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, _ he repeated to himself as he faked confidence and swaggered forward to sit down on the stool. However, he barely had time to touch the hat to his head before it shouted,

« SLYTHERIN! »

Pure joy surged through him as the Slytherin table cheered. If it hadn’t said Slytherin . . . but he needn’t have worried. Draco took off the hat and put it on the stool before walking to join Crabbe and Goyle. It took everything in him to walk calmly instead of running and jumping like an excited child. He was slapped on the back by a few Slytherin fifth years and congratulated by a few third years before he sat down between Crabbe and Goyle and looked up at the Sorting, a satisfied smirk lingering on his pale face.

“Moon, Liliane!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Newton, Alfred!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Nott, Theodore!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Parkinson, Pansy!”

The girl that had been with Nott on the train flounced forward confidently. The hat had barely touched her head before it decided, “SLYTHERIN!”

“Patil, Padma!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Patil, Parvati!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

« Perks, Sally-Anne! »

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The girl had hardly sat down at the Hufflepuff table before the next name was called.

« Potter, Harry! »

The entire hall broke out into excited whispers as Draco’s stomach twisted. He was confused on what to feel. His hopes had been high that he would become friends with Potter, but the rejection of his handshake, coupled with Potter’s quick friendship with Hagrid and Weasley, were more than enough to crush his hopes. Draco was still angry and hurt, but his decision about the Boy Who Lived wasn’t irreversible. In his mind, everything hinged on where Potter was sorted: if it was Slytherin, maybe he would still have a chance to change the boy’s mind. If it was Slytherin, there was still a chance his father was right about Potter being a budding Dark wizard. If it was Slytherin . . .

Everyone around him was craning their necks to get a better view of Potter, so Draco had to stand up to see him. The boy looked nervous as he sat down on the stool and put on the hat, which fell over his eyes and partially hid his face.

The whispers slowly subsided into silence as the seconds ticked on. It was as if the castle itself was holding its breath, waiting to see which house the Boy Who Lived would call home. Draco watched the boy’s lips move without a sound and saw how hard he clutched the edge of the stool.

_ Please let it be Slytherin, please let it be Slytherin. . . _ Draco found himself thinking, leaning forward as the hat’s brim opened wide:

« GRYFFINDOR! »

Disappointment surged through him as the Great Hall erupted in cheers. So he  _ had _ been wrong about Potter. Anger, frustration, hurt, and jealousy followed his disappointment. Potter was getting the largest ovation yet, and worst of all, the Gryffindors seemed elated. One of the Weasleys stood up and shook his hand vigorously, while two more Weasleys yelled, « We got Potter! We got Potter! » Draco felt sick. The rest of the Slytherin table didn’t seem happy, either, but it was little consolation. He hadn’t even been at Hogwarts for an entire day and things were already going poorly.

The rest of the Sorting finished quickly, as Draco was preoccupied with glaring at the Gryffindors and wasn’t paying attention to the other first years. Matthew Song and Ethel Stern were sorted into Hufflepuff, Dean Thomas and Potter’s obnoxious new friend Ron Weasley were sorted into Gryffindor, Lisa Turpin was sorted into Ravenclaw, and Blaise Zabini was the last to be sorted, joining the Slytherin table. Professor McGonagall took away the stool and Sorting Hat as Albus Dumbledore stood up, opening his arms wide.

« Welcome! » said the Headmaster jovially. « Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you! »

The hall erupted into cheers as Dumbledore sat down, but Draco could barely muster up a second of half-hearted clapping, his face scrunched in distaste. He could already see why his father disliked the Headmaster and why he had wanted Draco to go to Durmstrang instead. What kind of a welcome was that?

Draco’s stomach growled as the aroma of freshly-cooked dinner hit his nostrils. He tore his eyes away from the High Table to see that the golden dishes on the tables were overflowing with food. The feast almost looked more elaborate than the dinners he was used to back at the Manor, although he would never admit it out loud. His mouth watered as he piled his plate with roast beef and chicken, lamb chops, roast and mashed potatoes, fries, and vegetables.

As he ate as fast as he could without being uncultured, Draco listened to the conversations of the older students around him. The conversations bounced around from how their summers went, to the classes they were looking forward to taking, to their families, to their worries about the upcoming school year and their relationship drama. When he got bored of eavesdropping, he let his eyes wander the Great Hall. Despite the bumps in the road that he had experienced so far, Hogwarts was already beginning to feel like home. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and the stars across the ceiling twinkled at them fondly.

Draco yawned and pushed away his plate. He wasn’t sure if he could eat another bite. However, seconds later, the plates cleared themselves and all manner of desserts appeared. Despite the protesting from his stomach, Draco took a small helping of vanilla ice cream and apple pie and ate it slowly, savouring every bite. He was beginning to feel sleepy.

Finally, the plates cleaned themselves again, and the hall’s chatter died as Dumbledore stood up. « Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered, » said the Headmaster.

Draco braced himself for more idiotic utterances, but this time, the old man was making sense.

« I have a few start-of term notices to give you, » Dumbledore said. « First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. »

Draco followed Dumbledore’s twinkling gaze to where it lingered on the Gryffindor table. He snorted. It figured that Gryffindors were the only ones stupid enough to break the rules so frequently.

« I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors, » Dumbledore said. « Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. »

Confused murmurs echoed throughout the hall. Dumbledore clapped his hands together, as if to lighten the mood after his last statement. « And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song! »

The Headmaster flicked his wand and a golden ribbon shot out of its tip, twisting itself into words above the students’ heads. He looked as though he was enjoying himself, but Draco noticed that the other teachers didn’t look as amused.

« Everyone pick their favourite tune and off we go! » Dumbledore cried.

Draco didn’t know what to sing, but he was too sleepy to care. He picked a random tune he had heard his mother singing around the Manor and joined in as the students sang the words hanging in the air. Self-conscious of voice, Draco finished early. He felt vaguely as though his father might disapprove of such an activity, but he reminded himself that his father went to Hogwarts and spoke as fondly of his time there as anyone would. Besides, the rest of the Slytherins were singing, and it wasn’t Hogwarts that his father had a problem with — it was Dumbledore and his policies.

Heartened by this thought, Draco listened with amusement to Crabbe and Goyle belt the words to the school song tunelessly. Around him, people were finishing the song at different times. Finally, the Weasley twins were left singing the school song to the tune of a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand. When they finished, everyone in the hall applauded, Dumbledore included.

« Ah, music, » Dumbledore said as he wiped his eyes, whether from happiness or sadness Draco couldn’t tell. « A magic beyond what all we do here! And now, bedtime! Off you trot! »

A tall girl with curly hair stood up from the Slytherin table immediately. “First years, follow me!”

The Slytherin first years followed the girl through the bustling crowd and out into the entrance hall, where they broke away from the other students and headed down a different corridor.

“I’m Gemma Farley, by the way, I’m one of the Slytherin prefects,” she said over her shoulder as the first years scurried after her. “The Slytherin common room and dormitories are in the dungeon, but don’t worry, they’re top-notch. Aesthetically-pleasing, regal, the whole deal. Far away from the other houses, too, so that’s a plus.”

Farley smiled down at them. It wasn’t a warm smile, but it was welcoming all the same. “All dorms are split into boys and girls, and are also split up into grade level, so the first years have two dorms, and so do the second years, third years, et cetera. But of course, you’ll see that when we get there.”

They reached a wide doorway that had stone steps leading down into the darkness. At the bottom of the stairs was a labyrinth of passages, lit by torches in sconces along the walls. Farley strode through the passages confidently, taking a left here, a right there, but Draco found himself worrying that he would become lost trying to find his way to his classes. Finally, Farley stopped in front of a stretch of bare stone that was situated between two mounted torches.

“Here’s the entrance to the Slytherin common room and dorms,” she said. “It may look like any other stretch of wall down here, but it isn’t. If you ever get lost, just look at the sconces where the torches are sitting.”

Farley pointed to the sconces on either side of the blank stone wall. Unlike the plain sconces in the main part of the castle, these sconces were made of two intertwined cast-iron snakes, one facing left and the other facing right. One of the snakes had its mouth closed, but the other one was baring its teeth, its tongue out. The open-mouthed snake on each sconce faced the bare stone wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin quarters, as if pointing to the entrance with their tongues.

“The snakes with their tongues out are always pointing towards the entrance,” Farley said. “All of the sconces in the dungeons have them, so if you get lost on your way back to the common room, follow the open-mouthed snakes and they’ll eventually lead you here. If you get lost on your way out of the dungeons to your classes, follow the closed-mouthed snakes and you’ll reach the stairs leading out of here.”

A feeling of relief that he wouldn’t be getting lost swept over Draco, as well as a feeling of pride that he was a Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin had thought of everything! He doubted any of the other houses had such a subtle yet clever way of keeping their students from getting lost.

“The entrance is password protected, too,” said Farley. “So even if a member of another house managed to find it, they wouldn’t be able to get in.  _ Viridi serpens _ ,” she said to the wall.

A bare stone door that had been concealed in the wall slid to the right, revealing a wide archway. Draco and the other first years followed Farley through it, their eyes widening in awe as they entered.

The Slytherin common room was enormous. Round green lamps hung on chains from the stone ceiling. The walls were stone as well, decorated sparsely with swords with elegant handles and pure-blood family crests. Almost directly in front of them, a wide corridor led off to the dorms. On the other end of the room was another entrance to the same corridor; Draco assumed that the corridor curved in a semi-circle and looped back around to the common room. In between the doorways and set into the wall was a fire crackling in a massive fireplace. A sleek black couch sat slightly back from the fire, with a couple of elegant high-backed chairs on either side of it. More high-backed chairs were dispersed throughout the room, as well as opulent coffee tables made of glass and sleek wood, and squashy dark green and silver beanbags.

“I told you it was great,” Farley said with relish as she watched the first years’ reactions. “Now let’s get you off to bed, classes start tomorrow.”

Farley led them into the corridor to the dorms. It was wide, with stone walls and a smooth flagged stone floor. It, too, was lit by torches. She stopped at the first door, which had a gold nameplate on it, announcing in all caps,  _ FIRST YEAR GIRLS’ DORMITORY _ .

“Here you go, girls,” she said. “If you need anything, the older students have their rooms down the corridor and to the right. Good night!”

Farley waited for the girls to enter their dorm room. Then the boys followed her down the corridor, passing the second through fourth year girl rooms before reaching the end of the corridor, which twisted ninety degrees to the right. They followed it, passing the fifth through seventh year rooms. The corridor twisted to the right again, which led to the fourth through first year boy rooms. The first-year boys’ dormitory was nearest to the second entrance back into the Slytherin common room. It, too, had a gold nameplate on it, although this one said  _ FIRST YEAR BOYS’ DORMITORY _ .

Farley gave them the same short spiel she gave the girls before wishing them good night and walking off. Draco pushed open the door and the other boys followed him. The dormitory was much bigger than Draco was expecting, with five four-post canopy beds draped in dark green silk curtains. A door off to the side led to the bathroom, which had several showers, sinks, and toilets. The boys’ trunks were already in the room. Draco claimed the middle bed, dragging his two trunks to the base of it; Crabbe and Goyle took the beds on either side of him, leaving Zabini and Nott with the outer ones. Exhausted from the long day, the boys changed into their pyjamas right away and crawled into bed. Draco’s bed was soft and warm with green silk sheets, and he quickly fell into a deep, restful sleep.


	5. The First Week at Hogwarts

Adjusting to life at Hogwarts wasn’t too hard, even during the first week. Sure, the castle had a way of making finding his classes difficult — both the suits of armour and the people in the paintings liked to wander, rendering a tactic like finding his way by assigning landmarks useless — but the classes themselves were interesting, and the homesickness Draco felt the first few days wore off quickly.

Every morning, he ate breakfast at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, waiting for Abraxas II or Nigellus to swoop in with packages of sweets from his mother. Then he made a big show of opening the packages in front of everyone. Sometimes they held his favourite sweets, like Chocolate Frogs or Pumpkin Pasties. Other times they held his mother’s homemade treats, like scones, _petits fours_ , or biscuits. Within a couple of days, Draco received his first envelope, containing a short letter from his father, less than a page, and a gushing three-page letter from his mother. They were stored in a special hidden compartment in one of his trunks. He promised himself that he would write back to them as soon as he got the chance.

Since Draco already knew many of his pure-blood peers before he reached Hogwarts, he didn’t have to work to make friends. The Slytherin girls — Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, and Daphne Greengrass — had quickly bonded into a clique with Parkinson in the lead, while Zabini and Nott were more of the loner type. That left Draco with Crabbe and Goyle. It was a bit too early to tell if he would regret keeping them around, but he figured he wouldn’t.

Draco already had strong opinions of his classes. The worst class by far was Herbology, which they had three days a week. He hated getting his hands dirty, and it took him forever to get the dirt out from underneath his nails after working in the greenhouses. Plus, some of the plants seemed downright dangerous. He much preferred them when they were dead, either in salads or in potions. History of Magic wasn’t much better. History was never something Draco was particularly interested in, and it was even harder to be interested when Professor Binns, a ghost with a dull, monotonous voice, was teaching the class. Meanwhile, Defence Against the Dark Arts was a joke. The classroom always smelled like fresh garlic, and Professor Quirrell’s stutter made him an easy target for students’ jokes, including Draco’s.

However, all was not lost, as he enjoyed some of his classes. He already loved Astronomy, which he had every Tuesday at midnight with Professor Sinistra. When he was little, his father took him stargazing and told him the stories associated with each constellation. It was how Draco learned that his first name came from a constellation, just like many of his mother’s side of the family. Hence, he had a certain fondness for the night sky, and Hogwarts’s Astronomy class did not disappoint.

Charms was a decent class, too, where they got to practice spells and wand work. He couldn’t wait until they started learning more complex spells and charms. Transfiguration was another class he liked. Professor McGonagall was very strict and the Head of the Gryffindor house, but he had grudging respect for her. After seeing her transfigure her desk into a pig and back, he was determined to be able to do such complex magic as soon as possible.

Double Potions with the Gryffindors was turning out to be his favourite class, topping all the others. On Friday morning after breakfast, Draco wandered with the other Slytherins down to the dungeons, where Potions was held. The Potions classroom was much colder than the rest of the castle and sparsely lit, leaving it with an eerie feel that was pleasantly Dark. Draco examined the jarred creatures floating in pickling liquid along the wall before taking a seat near the front of the class with Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott.

As the rest of the students filed in nervously, Professor Snape swept out from a half-closed door at the front of the room and stood glowering in front of his desk. Draco noticed with delight that his foul mood was aimed in the direction of the Gryffindors. Once everyone was situated, Professor Snape took roll call. Draco made note of every name, trying to place names with faces for future reference. A little over halfway through, Professor Snape paused suddenly, looking up at the Gryffindor side of the room.

« Ah, yes, » he said softly. « Harry Potter. Our new — _celebrity_. »

Draco’s heart leapt in his chest. Finally, somebody who wasn’t going to treat Potter as if he was the ultimate gift to the wizarding world! He snickered with Crabbe and Goyle, shooting a look at Potter. Potter actually looked confused, the stupid git.

 _He probably expects everybody to worship him,_ Draco thought spitefully.

Professor Snape finished roll call. The room was now dead silent.

« You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making, » Professor Snape said. « As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren’t as big of a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach. »

The classroom was silent after his little speech. The other students were terrified, but Draco was already excited. His father spoke highly of Professor Snape, and now he could see why; he had a way of commanding others’ presence that few others had.

« Potter! » Professor Snape said suddenly, nailing the Gryffindor side of the classroom with a cold look of contempt. « What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood? »

Draco couldn’t believe his ears; it was as if all his prayers had been answered at once. They weren’t even five minutes into Potions, and Professor Snape was already calling out Potter in front of the entire class! He looked over at Potter to catch his reaction. Potter and Weasley were exchanging a confused look, but Granger’s hand was already up in the air.

« I don’t know, sir, » said Potter.

The edge of Professor Snape’s lip turned up into a sneer.

« Tut, tut — fame clearly isn’t everything. »

Draco let out an audible snicker, glancing at Granger’s hand, which stayed in the air. He wondered if she really knew the answer or if she just had a lucky guess.

« Let’s try again, » Professor Snape said, ignoring Granger’s hand entirely. « Potter, where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar? »

Draco knew the answer to that one, but it was clear from the look on Potter’s face that he did not. Granger stretched her hand higher, the muscles in her arm quivering slightly from the effort. Potter’s clueless face, coupled with Granger’s overeagerness to answer the question, struck Draco as comedic gold. He doubled over with laughter, along with Crabbe, Goyle, and a few others.

« I don’t know, sir, » Potter repeated.

Professor Snape’s sneer widened slightly. « Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter? »

Draco could hardly breathe from laughter. Professor Snape was officially his favourite professor. But he didn’t stop there. Still pretending as if Granger weren’t raising her hand, he asked, « What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane? »

Granger stood up, her hand stretched as high as possible. Draco eyed her with interest. It was impressive that she knew the answers to all of Professor Snape’s questions, which were clearly designed to be obscure.

« I don’t know, » Potter said quietly, his eyes flitting over to Granger. « I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her? »

A few people laughed.

« Sit down, » Professor Snape snapped at Granger. She sat down quickly, looking wounded. « For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down? »

Students scrambled for parchment, ink, and quills as Professor Snape added, « And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter. »

Professor Snape flicked his wand, and a piece of chalk started writing notes on the chalkboard. Draco couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he scribbled down how to make a simple potion to curl boils. He had no idea what Potter had done to instil such hatred in Professor Snape, but it delighted him.

“For your first attempt at potion-making, you will work in pairs,” Professor Snape said as the chalk finished writing the instructions on the board.

He swept around the tables, quickly pairing students together as his long black cloak billowed behind him. To Draco’s relief, he was paired with Nott, while Crabbe and Goyle were paired together. He had been afraid that he might be paired with Crabbe or Goyle, because then he would’ve had to worry about one of them messing up the potion while he did all the work.

Nott was a decent-enough partner, and their potion came along swimmingly. As Draco crushed snake fangs and Nott weighed dried nettles, Professor Snape swept around the classroom giving out criticisms like sweets.

“What are you trying to do, Zabini, poison the drinker? Your slugs are so raw they might as well still be moving. . . .

“And I suppose you realize that your potion is supposed to be light green and not puke brown, yes, Patil? . . .

“I would take another look at the directions up on the board, Thomas, unless the reason that you are not following directions is because you cannot read. . . .”

Professor Snape stopped at Draco’s table next. Draco almost felt nervous until he saw the edge of Professor Snape’s lip curl into a rare half smile.

“Now, this is how to do it. These two have followed the directions, unlike the bulk of you. Look at how perfectly Malfoy here has stewed his horned slugs. They’re just starting to turn —”

The rest of Professor Snape’s sentence was interrupted by a sudden loud hissing sound as clouds of acid green smoke filled the Gryffindor side of the room. The idiot Longbottom boy was standing in front of a twisted blob that used to be a cauldron, his mouth hanging open in shock as potion dripped from his soaked body onto the floor. His partner Finnigan had escaped the spray when the cauldron collapsed, but was staring in dismay at his ruined cauldron, standing on his stool. The boys’ potion was seeping across the dungeon floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Everyone climbed onto their stools to avoid the potion as angry red boils popped up all over Longbottom’s body.

Professor Snape looked livid as he waved his wand and the mess disappeared.

« Idiot boy! » he snarled at Longbottom, who looked terrified. « I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? »

Longbottom whimpered in reply.

Professor Snape turned to his partner, Finnigan. « Take him up to the hospital wing, » he spat. He whirled around to face Potter and Weasley, his eyes flashing. « You — Potter — why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor. »

Draco’s heart leapt for joy. Potter looked as though he wanted to argue, but Weasley whispered urgently in his ear, and after a second, Potter closed his mouth and turned back to their cauldron.

The rest of Potions proceeded in the same manner. Professor Snape continued to praise Draco, while criticizing most everyone else’s potion except for Granger’s, which he reluctantly admitted was close to being satisfactory. Granger looked pleased, which Draco thought made her look even prettier. Draco was in a fantastic mood. He had known that Potions would be a great class, but he hadn’t realised just how great it would be. He felt like humming or skipping as he left the dungeons an hour later with Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott.

“Let’s go to the lake, it’s much too nice to laze around inside,” Draco said, flicking a nettle stem off the sleeve of his robe.

“But I’m ’ungry,” said Crabbe. “Can’t we get a bite to eat first?”

“Crabbe, we ate a few hours ago,” Draco said exasperatedly, “and dinner’s only a couple hours from now.”

Crabbe glared at him for a few seconds before dropping his head. “I’m still ’ungry,” he said mutinously.

Goyle nodded. “Me, too.”

Draco let out a long sigh. “Fine, meet us outside, then?”

They agreed, so the boys went their separate ways. As Draco and Nott headed upstairs, Nott lagging slightly with his head in a book, they heard a simpering voice behind them.

“Draco! Theo! Wait up!”

Draco slowed slightly to allow Pansy Parkinson to catch up with them. Besides a few polite words here and there, he hadn’t talked to her much yet. Most of the time she was too busy whispering and giggling with the other Slytherin girls to make conversation.

“Professor Snape’s great, isn’t he?” she gushed as soon as she was even with Draco. “He sure showed those stupid Gryffindors not to mess with him. Did you see the looks on their faces? Absolutely terrified!”

Draco glanced over at Parkinson. She was watching him eagerly for his reaction.

“Yeah, my father thinks highly of him,” Draco said nonchalantly. “They went to Hogwarts together. My father was a prefect when Professor Snape was sorted.”

Parkinson seemed impressed. “Wow, so have you met him before?”

“Not really, just heard my father talk about him.”

“Wow,” Parkinson repeated.

She seemed to be at a loss for what to say next, as awkward silence followed. They reached the entrance hall and headed down the sloping front lawns towards the lake.

“You know who really irritates me?” Parkinson said suddenly, having finally latched upon what she considered a satisfactory subject. “That Hermione Granger. She’s such an insufferable know-it-all.” Parkinson’s voice went up an octave as she jumped up and down, waving her arm in the air in an imitation of Granger. “‘Oh, Professor Snape, pick me, pick me! I read all our books over the summer and now I’m going to show off in front of everyone! Pick me, pick me!’”

Draco didn’t respond. Parkinson had struck a nerve without knowing it, as he had read all their books over the summer, too. Besides, he hadn’t thought of Granger as obnoxious; in fact, he considered her intelligence an attractive thing.

Parkinson gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. “I saw you looking at her in Potions,” she said slyly. “Are you interested in her?”

“Don’t know enough about her,” Draco said shortly, unwilling to give anything away to a girl he barely knew.

“Well, it’s a good thing, cuz on top of her being a know-it-all, I’ve heard she’s a _Mudblood!_ No wonder she’s in Gryffindor, they’re all a bunch of Mudblood lovers.”

Draco’s heart dropped, accompanied by a tightening in his stomach. Suddenly, he was very glad he hadn’t written home yet; he could only imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been if he’d expressed his interest in Granger to his parents, only to tell them later that he’d been looking at a filthy Mudblood. It was a good thing he had been vague with his answers to Parkinson, too. He had really dodged an awkward situation there. However, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. By the look Parkinson was giving him, she suspected his initial interest in Granger.

“Oh, is that so?” Draco said as indifferently as possible, determined to convince her otherwise. “That must’ve been what that nasty smell was when the Gryffindors walked into the room.”

Parkinson looked delighted. “So you weren’t looking at her?”

“Are you kidding?” Draco said, gaining momentum. “I’d rather die. I can smell a Mudblood from twenty meters away. I suspected she was one the moment I saw her.”

For a second, he was afraid he had gone overboard. However, from the ecstatic look on Parkinson’s face, Draco could tell he had sold her completely on his alleged distaste of Granger, at least for the present moment. His anxiety that his secret would be found out subsided, leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a funny feeling in his stomach. Parkinson continued to chatter about the disgustingness of Mudbloods and blood-traitors, but he tuned it out. So, there _was_ a good reason that Granger was placed into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. Not only was she not a pure-blood, but she was a Mudblood. He should’ve been happy that he had figured it out before his feelings had advanced any further . . . so why wasn’t he?

Instead of happiness or relief, Draco felt a strange mixture of disappointment and embarrassment. The worst part was that the revelation that Granger was born to a pair of Muggles didn’t automatically make him hate her. He hated Mudbloods, yes, and he hated himself for being interested in one, and he hated her because she attracted him, but he didn’t hate _her_. This wasn’t a pleasant thought, and it completely soured the mood that he was in previously because of Potions class.

The sour mood lasted through dinner time. He knew Crabbe and Goyle could tell there was something wrong with him, but thankfully they had learnt after years with him that he was not to be bothered when in a bad mood. Draco went down to his dorm as soon as he was finished eating to distract himself by writing back to his parents.

The dorm was empty, as everyone else was still up in the Great Hall. Draco dug the envelope out of the compartment in one of his trunks and sat down on his bed.

The first letter was from his mother. He smiled down at the three pages of beautiful loopy cursive on expensive parchment paper as he reread it. It began with the words _“My darling boy Draco”_ and ended with _“Your dearest Mother,”_ and in between was an endless supply of love and updates on life at the Manor. His father Lucius, despite his attempts to seem otherwise, was worried about him, and was in the middle of an application to sit on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, just to keep an eye on the place. Alfred missed him dearly and was so cross that Draco hadn’t visited him that he kept trying to strut into the house to look for him. She herself missed him profusely and hoped that he was enjoying the packages of sweets she sent him every day. The two eagle owls still loathed each other and nipped at each other threateningly as they fought over who got to deliver Draco his daily package. All in all, life at the Manor continued like normal, but she stressed how much they missed him and how she hoped that everything was going well for him. It was so sweet that every time he read it he was overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness.

The second letter was from his father. It was written in Lucius’s immaculate calligraphy, a skill passed down from generation to generation in the Malfoy family even as the rest of the wizarding world dropped the tradition. Clocking in at just over half a page, it was much less profuse than his wife’s and much more to the point.

 

_Draco Lucius,_

_I hope that your first week at Hogwarts is going well and that you are taking your studies seriously, regardless of the quality — or lack thereof — of the professors that Dumbledore has hired this year. I eagerly await to hear about how much you love being a Slytherin and a part of the best house at Hogwarts. I am also hopeful to hear the status of your friendship with Harry Potter. Have you talked to him yet? Which house is he in? I hope to hear that he is a budding Dark wizard, or at the very least that he shows more than a passing interest in the Dark Arts. An alliance with him is very important. Remember, it is prudent to remain on good terms with the boy._

_As your mother may have already told you, I am soon to be a governor on the Hogwarts Board. My hope is to have a positive influence on the Board and to keep the Headmaster’s rash decisions and Muggle-loving habits in check. Like I have told you numerous times before, if you have any serious issues with anything or there is something the professors and Headmaster will not solve, tell me and I will take care of it._

_Write back as soon as possible, but do not neglect your studies to do so. I await your letter with Abraxas II._

_Your dearest father,_

_Lucius_

 

Draco took in a deep breath. His father’s letter was part of the reason why he hadn’t written back yet; how was he supposed to tell his father about Potter and his failed attempt at becoming friends with him? He could imagine clearly how disappointed his father would be that not only was he wrong about Harry Potter, but his son had also failed to impress the boy.

Anger welled up in him. Stupid Potter! This was all Potter’s fault! Draco gritted his teeth together as he pulled out a slip of parchment and began writing the letter back to his parents.

 

_Dearest Mother and Father,_

_Slytherin is great! The common room and dorms are better than I could’ve imagined. I think you would like my fellow Slytherins. Hogwarts doesn’t top the Manor, though; I’m enjoying my studies, but I miss being home with you._

 

Draco braced himself. Now he had to bring up Potter. He recoated the tip of his quill in ink and continued writing, his hand shaking slightly with poorly-suppressed rage.

 

_As for Harry Potter, he is nothing like we imagined. The stories of his greatness and the rumour that he is a Dark wizard in the making — it’s all a load of codswallop. He was already friends with a filthy blood-traitor Weasley when I went to talk to him on the train, and he seemed to be enjoying his company. I tried to warn him that he needed to choose his friends more wisely, that the Weasleys and freaks like Hagrid would rub off on him, but instead he rudely rejected my offer of friendship and almost started a fight with me right there on the train. To top it off, he was sorted into that awful house you always complained about, Gryffindor. He’s an insufferable, arrogant prat!_

 

Draco’s hand shook so much that the last word, _prat,_ became little more than a blob. Taking deep, calming breaths, he put down his quill and read over the letter a few times. He added an extra paragraph thanking his mother for the packages of sweets and wishing his father the best of luck as a Hogwarts governor before sealing the letter in an envelope. Then he put the letter under his pillow to send later and left the dorm.

 _Stupid Potter,_ he thought angrily as he headed upstairs to rejoin his fellow Slytherins. _Stupid Potter, stupid Weasley, stupid Granger . . . Merlin, I hate Gryffindors!_


	6. Flying with the Gryffindors

The next morning, Draco sent his letter along with Abraxas II when the owl landed on the breakfast table. Then he tried to enjoy the freedom of his first weekend at Hogwarts without worrying about his parents’ response.

Their response came on Sunday. As soon as Draco saw Abraxas II flying at him with a letter accompanying his usual package, his stomach did a flop. His breakfast lay forgotten on the table as he slowly tore open the envelope. Too scared to read his father’s response, Draco skimmed his mother’s first. To his relief, his mother wasn’t upset with him. She was horrified to hear that the boys almost got into a fight —  _ “On your first day no less, and still on the Hogwarts Express!” _ — but she didn’t blame him for the ordeal. She, too, expressed contempt for Gryffindors, Hagrid, and the Weasleys, and she hinted that if Potter wanted to hang with that lot, perhaps Draco would be better off with different company.

Heartened by her response, Draco turned to his father’s letter. However, his father’s letter was much less warm. He was happy to hear about Draco’s Slytherin pride, but he was extremely disappointed with the entire circumstance surrounding Potter. He was furious that Potter had mistreated his son and that his theory about Potter was proven wrong in such an embarrassing manner, but he scolded Draco for acting the way that he had:

_ “Did I not just tell you in my last letter that it is prudent to remain on good terms with the boy? If you cannot manage that, at least use your Malfoy cunning and pretend that you like him. It is not wise to seem as though you dislike the boy whom everyone sees as the noble hero who defeated the Dark Lord. I would have thought you had more sense than that.” _

Draco winced and fit the letters back in the envelope, smarting at his father’s harsh words. It was easy for his father to talk about faking positive feelings for Potter when he was miles away at the Manor. He wasn’t the one having to deal with the professors and other Hogwarts students tripping over themselves to make everything as cosy as possible for the sodding Boy Who Lived. And he wasn’t the one whose offer of friendship was rejected in such a humiliating manner.

However, Draco didn’t stew in his anger for long. On Monday morning, he got his first chance to get back at Potter. A notice pinned on the doors of the first year Slytherin dorms announced that they would be starting flying lessons on Thursday with the Gryffindors. Most of the other Slytherins seemed less than pleased with this news, but Draco’s chest swelled with confidence. There was no way any of the other first years were better than him at flying. This was his chance to knock Potter down a few notches.

By the time Thursday rolled around, Draco was more than ready to show off his flying skills. He woke up in great mood that only got better when the owls swooped in during breakfast and he noticed that Potter’s ridiculous snowy owl hadn’t brought him anything again. Potter hadn’t gotten anything for almost a week. As the snowy owl fluttered off to the owlery with a slice of bacon in its beak, Draco decided to saunter by the Gryffindor table and taunt him for it.

He got Crabbe and Goyle’s attention and pointed in the direction of the Gryffindors.

“Look at poor Potter, nobody to send him letters.” Draco snickered. “Come on.”

Crabbe and Goyle followed. As the boys neared the Gryffindor table, however, Draco was distracted by a light coming from Longbottom’s hands. It was a Remembrall, and by the way it was glowing bright scarlet, it looked as though the idiot had forgotten something. Changing plans on the fly, Draco reached over and snatched the Remembrall out of Longbottom’s grip as he passed. It had the intended effect, as Potter and Weasley were on their feet in an instant. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall was there an instant later.

« What’s going on? »

« Malfoy’s got my Remembrall, Professor, » Longbottom squeaked.

Frustration shot through Draco and he scowled, dropping the Remembrall on the table quicker than he had intended. « Just looking, » he said.

Then he slouched away with Crabbe and Goyle, his insides burning with anger. So much for making fun of Potter. He would have to wait until that afternoon to humiliate him.

Flying lessons could not come quick enough. His classes dragged by and he could hardly concentrate on his Charms homework during the free period. Finally, Draco made his way outside with the other Slytherin first years. It was a beautiful afternoon for flying, with clear skies and a light breeze. At the bottom of the grassy slope, Madam Hooch was waiting for them with broomsticks. Soon, the Gryffindors came down the slope towards them. Draco was pleased to see that many of them looked apprehensive.

As soon as they reached the broomsticks, Madam Hooch barked, « Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up. »

There were eighteen brooms to choose from, laid out in two neat rows in the grass. Draco quickly chose one of the less worn-looking brooms. Some of the brooms were so rough that they looked as though they might give their rider splinters, while others only had half their twigs left.

_ These look like brooms that even the Weasleys might be able to afford, _ Draco thought disdainfully, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

« Stick out your right hand over your broom and say ‘Up!’ » Madam Hooch said.

“UP!” Draco shouted.

His broom leapt into his hand immediately. However, Greengrass and Nott were the only other Slytherins whose brooms jumped readily into their hands. On the Gryffindor side, the situation was similar. Potter, Weasley, and Finnigan’s brooms leapt up to their owners, but Granger’s broom merely rolled over and Longbottom’s didn’t even budge. The unsuccessful first years were told to pick up their brooms while Madam Hooch showed them how to mount a broomstick.

“Now stay where you are while I check everyone’s grip,” she said, putting down the example broom.

Madam Hooch walked down the rows, her hawk-like eyes piercing each student. Draco’s good mood improved as he watched her correct most of the Gryffindors. He straightened up when she reached him, his chest swelling with confidence and pride in his flying ability. However, instead of looking impressed with his stellar grip, Madam Hooch’s facial expression didn’t change.

“Your hands are in the wrong place, dear, they should be up here,” she said, pointing closer to the front end of the broom.

“But this is how I’ve always flown,” Draco protested, feeling as though he’d been kicked in the gut. “This is how my father showed me how to hold it and it’s always worked for me!”

“Well, regardless of how many years you’ve held it like that, your hands should be up here,” said Madam Hooch.

Draco gritted his teeth together as she moved on to Crabbe, hoping that nobody else had been listening to their exchange. He almost wanted to disregard what she’d told him and continue using his old grip, but after a few seconds, he reluctantly moved his hands to where she had pointed. His pride deflated as he realised that this grip felt more natural and put less strain on his back and leg muscles than his old grip. He silently fumed to himself as Madam Hooch finished checking the other first years and walked back to the front.

« Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground hard, » said Madam Hooch. « Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two — »

But before she could reach one, Longbottom let out a nervous squeak and pushed off from the ground. He shot up into the air, his rotund face the picture of absolute terror.

« Come back, boy! » Madam Hooch yelled as the other first years gasped in horror.

However, it was obvious that Longbottom had no idea how to stop his ascent. He kept rising until he made the mistake of looking down. Then he gasped and slipped off his broom to the shrieks of the other first years, landing face-down in the grass with a thud and a sharp cracking noise that couldn’t be good news. Draco tore his eyes away from Longbottom’s motionless shape and saw that the idiot’s broomstick was drifting away towards the Forbidden Forest on the opposite side of the grounds.

Madam Hooch had hurried over to Longbottom as soon as he had fallen and was now helping him up. The boy was clutching his wrist —  _ it must be broken, _ Draco thought with glee — and tears streamed down his stark white face.

« None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! » Madam Hooch snapped. « You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear, » she added to Longbottom in a nicer tone, before escorting him up the sloping lawns towards the castle.

Draco couldn’t contain his mirth. It served that incompetent idiot right for tattling on him earlier! As soon as they were out of earshot, he burst out laughing at Longbottom’s misfortune.

« Did you see his face, the great lump? » he said loudly. “I knew Longbottom would be the first off his broom!”

As the Slytherins roared with laughter, one of the Gryffindors, a pretty girl with her dark hair in a plait, clenched her fists and glared at him. « Shut up, Malfoy. »

Before Draco could say anything, Parkinson said, « Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought  _ you’d _ like fat little cry-babies, Parvati. »

Suddenly, something glinting in the grass caught Draco’s eye. He couldn’t believe his luck; it was Longbottom’s Remembrall. « Look! » he said, leaping forwards and scooping it up. « It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him. »

He held it up dramatically, letting it catch the light of the sun and knowing that everyone’s eyes were now on him. As he smirked and tried to decide what he was going to do with it, Potter spoke up quietly.

« Give that here, Malfoy. »

Draco moved the Remembrall to the side, away from Potter but where it could still glint in the sunshine. The boy was glaring him. Draco’s smirk broadened, knowing that this was his chance to humiliate Potter in front of everyone.

« I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree? » he said, delighting in watching Potter’s anger heighten. Before Potter could do anything, he leapt skilfully onto his broom and took off into the air.

« Give it  _ here! _ » Potter yelled, sounding like a whiny child.

Draco laughed. He reached the top of the nearest tree and hovered over it, grinning at the shocked faces below him. « Come and get it, Potter! » he taunted, daringly letting go of his broom with one hand and waving the Remembrall in the air.

His taunt worked. Potter grabbed his broom, but Granger moved to intercept him, looking angry. «  _ No! _ Madam Hooch told us not to move — you’ll get us all into trouble! »

Potter ignored her and leapt onto his broom. Draco leaned forward eagerly, waiting to see a disaster in the making. However, his delight turned to astonishment as Potter shot into the air and turned sharply to face him to the gasps and screams of the first years back on the ground. Draco struggled to keep his composure as shock pulsed through his veins. Where had Potter learned to fly so well? He’d heard stories about how Potter was raised by Muggles, and Potter himself had told him that he didn’t play Quidditch back in Madam Malkin’s. So how in Merlin’s beard did Potter look as though he’d been flying for years?

« Give it here, » Potter called confidently, « or I’ll knock you off that broom! »

Draco could hear the rapid pulse of blood in his ears. His palms started to sweat.

« Oh, yeah? » he retorted, trying to twist his face into a sneer.

Potter narrowed his eyes and shot towards him. Panic pulsing through his veins, Draco pulled out of his way as fast as he could. Potter whizzed past close enough to ruffle his hair and robes. Then Potter turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to face him, grinning triumphantly. Draco’s heart was in his throat. He had never wished more in his life to be back down on the ground with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him.

« No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy, » Potter called, as if he could read Draco’s mind.

A sudden wave of anger crashed over Draco.

_ Well, fine! If Saint I’m-Better-Than-Everybody Potter wants Longbottom’s Remembrall so bad, then he can have it! _

« Catch it if you can, then! » Draco shouted.

With a mighty heave, he threw the Remembrall as high into the air as he could before diving to the ground, landing with a slight stumble but otherwise unharmed. The first years around him gasped and screamed. Draco whipped around in time to see Potter streaking towards the ground after the Remembrall, his arm outstretched. What was the idiot  _ doing? _ Did he  _ want _ to kill himself? Draco wanted to look away but couldn’t, sure that he was going to break his neck. However, Potter’s fingers closed around the Remembrall and the boy pulled up his broom at the last possible second, toppling into the grass completely unharmed. Draco let out a breath, torn between feeling jealous, furious, disappointed, and relieved at the same time.

« HARRY POTTER! »

Potter got his feet, looking terrified. Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the grassy slope towards them. Her robes billowed out behind her, wisps of hair flying free from her tight bun and her glasses flashing dangerously in the sunlight. She looked more furious than Draco had ever seen her. Gratitude flooded through him that it was Potter who had been caught flying and not him.

«  _ Never _ — in all my time at Hogwarts — how  _ dare _ you — might have broken your neck — » she spluttered as she drew even with the trembling first years.

« It wasn’t his fault, Professor — »

« Be quiet, Miss Patil — »

« But Malfoy — »

« That’s  _ enough _ , Mr Weasley, » said Professor McGonagall before Draco could defend himself. « Potter, follow me, now. »

Then she turned and marched towards the castle, Potter scurrying after her with Longbottom’s Remembrall still clutched in his hand. Draco grinned triumphantly. The flying lesson certainly hadn’t gone as planned, but this outcome was better than anything he could have dreamed. He might not have been able to one-up Potter in the air, but now it seemed as though Madam Hooch had been serious. Oh, wait until he could write home and tell his father all about the Boy Who Had Gotten Himself Expelled!

Draco made nasty jokes about Longbottom and Potter’s misfortunes to the other Slytherins’ amusement and the Gryffindors’ chagrin until Madam Hooch came back from the castle, looking disgruntled. The first years huddled together as Madam Hooch drew even with them. Neither Potter nor Longbottom was anywhere to be seen.

“Are we all done with the rule-breaking and shenanigans, or shall we give up right now and head back to the castle?” she said icily.

There was dead silence. Madam Hooch let out a long sigh.

“We don’t have much time left in class, so everyone get back to your brooms. And for Merlin’s sake, don’t do anything else unless I tell you to!”

The first years were too scared to step out of line again while Madam Hooch led them through the basic exercises, including lifting off, landing, and flying in a wide circle close to the ground. Madam Hooch complimented Draco on his flying more than once before class was over. As the first years traipsed back to the castle to get ready for dinner, Draco’s good mood was back and better than ever. What a great day it was turning out to be!

Draco spent most of dinner recounting that afternoon’s conflict to Crabbe and Goyle even though they’d been there, dramatizing the scene until it could’ve been at home in  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ . When he became bored with this, Draco looked across the Great Hall and saw Potter and Weasley talking to the Weasley twins. His eyes narrowed; Potter looked too cheerful. Disappointment settled in his chest. Did that mean that Potter had somehow avoided expulsion? He had been so hopeful that he would be rid of the boy for good after this evening.

“Come on,” Draco said, standing up from the Slytherin table abruptly.

He headed for Potter with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. Luckily for him, the Weasley twins had disappeared by the time he reached the Gryffindors.

« Having a last meal, Potter? » he taunted as Potter turned towards him. « When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles? »

Potter looked unfazed. « You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you. »

Draco narrowed his eyes, his muscles tensing. Crabbe and Goyle scowled and cracked their knuckles menacingly. Neither one of them looked pleased to be called Draco’s “little friends,” but there was nothing they could do about it when there were so many adults and witnesses around. A plan quickly formed in Draco’s head; whether Potter had been expelled yet or not, he would be gone after tonight. Draco would make sure of it.

« I’d take you on anytime on my own. Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only — no contact. » Catching Potter’s puzzled look, he pounced. « What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose? »

Weasley whipped around, taking the bait.

« Of course he has. I’m his second, who’s yours? »

Draco knew it didn’t matter, but he pretended to size up his allies. « Crabbe. Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked. »

Then he turned around and headed out of the Great Hall, a smirk spreading across his pale face. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Gryffindors were too stubborn to pass up a chance to show their bravery. He’d have Potter and Weasley expelled by tomorrow morning.

“Where’re we going?” Goyle said as Draco picked up the pace, putting distance between them and the Great Hall. “I’m still ’ungry.”

“You can eat more later,” Draco said. “First we have to speak to Filch.”

“Filch?” Crabbe asked. “Why Filch?”

Draco stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to face his allies.

“Merlin, Crabbe, you don’t think we’re  _ actually _ going to have a wizard’s duel with those two Gryffindorks, do you?”

Crabbe’s forehead scrunched up as he tried to think. It looked painful. “But . . . but you said we was gonna duel them tonight.”

“Yes, I said that, but it doesn’t mean that we will. Think about it,” Draco said, beginning to walk again. “If we tell Filch that we’ve overheard students talking about sneaking out past curfew to duel in the trophy room, then —”

But before he could finish explaining his brilliant plan, none other than Filch and his scrawny cat, Mrs Norris, appeared from the gloom.

“Students in the corridor,” Filch wheezed as he approached them, his eyes bulging grotesquely. “Should we write them up for loitering, my sweet?” he said to the cat.

Resisting the urge to kick Mrs Norris, Draco launched into his planned spiel. “Actually, we just overheard some students in the Great Hall talking about how they were going to sneak out and have a duel in the trophy room around midnight. I thought you might want to know about it, so we were coming to find you.”

Filch squinted at them as though he was trying to assess the validity of Draco’s statement.

“Could be lying to me, you could,” he said slowly, after a long pause. “Trying to avoid being written up for loitering, perhaps?”

“Stop by the trophy room at midnight if you don’t believe me,” Draco snapped. “Trust me, they’ll be there. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way.”

He shoved past Filch, deliberately bumping his foot into Mrs Norris as he went. Crabbe and Goyle hurried after him down to the Slytherin dorms.

“Draco, why’d you tell Filch ’bout our duel?” Crabbe asked as they reached the entrance to the common room. “Ain’t we gonna get in trouble now?”

“For Merlin’s sake, you two are thick!” Draco exclaimed. “We’re not going to be there at midnight at all. We’re going to be asleep, safe in our beds. I  _ lied _ .”

Foolish grins broke out on Crabbe and Goyle’s faces.

“I’m trying to get Potter and the Weasel expelled,” Draco continued. “I thought Potter would be expelled after today’s flying lesson, but this will seal the deal. They can’t keep making exceptions for the Boy Who Lived if he keeps screwing up and breaking the rules.”

“Wow, you’s a genius,” Goyle said in awe as they entered the common room.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone anything I said,” Draco said, dropping his voice hastily as a fifth year turned in their direction.

Crabbe and Goyle promised not to say anything and went to finish eating, leaving Draco alone. He plopped down in a high-backed chair away from the fireplace and closed his eyes, a smug smile lingering on his face. By the time he went to sleep and woke up the next morning, Potter would be packing his bags to return to the Muggles. He could not have been happier with himself. What could possibly go wrong?


	7. Jealousy and a Troll

Draco piled his plate high with eggs, bacon, and slices of toast.

“You see that?” he asked Crabbe and Goyle, motioning to the Gryffindor table with his fork. “No Potter and Weasley. My plan worked.”

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled as Draco smirked at his breakfast. Part of him had wondered whether Potter and Weasley were stupid enough to think he would risk going out after curfew to duel them in the Trophy room, but another part of him had been convinced they would. The latter part of him was proven right; neither boy was at breakfast. His plan to get them expelled had worked.

“I knew those two idiots would want nothing more than to show their bravery,” Draco said as he spread butter on his toast. “It’s a good thing Filch decided to check the trophy room, after all; I was a little worried that the barmy old man would ignore my warning. He was way too eager to write us up for loitering. But I should’ve known, any excuse to get students in trouble is something Filch would take advantage of. He’s always sneaking around, trying to catch students breaking the rules. I have half a mind to ask Father if there’s anything he can do to get the guy sacked. He just sent me a letter yesterday telling me the good news; he’s been accepted onto the Hogwarts Board of Governors, so his first order of business is to —”

“Um, Draco?”

Draco was so cross at being interrupted that his butter knife went through his slice of toast. “What do you want, Crabbe?” he snapped.

“I thought you said you got Potter an’ his Weasel friend expelled.”

“What are you talking about, you idiot, of course I di —”

The words faltered on Draco’s tongue as his eyes were met with an extraordinary sight. Potter and Weasley were approaching the Gryffindor table, looking exhausted but perfectly content.

Draco gripped his butter knife harder than necessary. “Are you kidding me?” he hissed. “How are they still here?”

Crabbe scratched his head. “Maybe they didn’t get caught?”

“There’s no way; how could they have escaped Filch? This isn’t fair! I can’t believe that Potter hasn’t been expelled after everything he did yesterday!”

Draco shot daggers in the direction of the Gryffindors, where Potter and Weasley were digging into their breakfasts with gusto. However, neither one of them looked in his direction, so he resigned himself to glowering at his breakfast instead. How was this possible? Had they chickened out and not gone to the Trophy room for a duel? Draco doubted it. They were Gryffindors, after all; Gryffindors weren’t the type to back down from a fight. Draco supposed it was possible that Filch had disregarded his tip-off, but that was unlikely. It was next to impossible, too, that the boys had somehow avoided Filch and gotten back to the Gryffindor common room unharmed. So what was it? How had they escaped expulsion?

He stabbed at his eggs violently. Stupid Potter. Getting back at him was going to be much harder than he thought.

Draco was distracted for the rest of the day, so much so that he was reprimanded by Professor McGonagall for not paying attention in Transfiguration. His anger made it hard for him to concentrate. This was the second time that Potter had gotten away with something majorly against the rules and suffered no repercussions for his actions. Were the teachers at Hogwarts so biased that they were unwilling to dole out punishments to the Boy Who Lived?

Draco was relieved when Transfiguration wrapped up and they were dismissed. He wandered down to the lake with Crabbe and Goyle and sat in the shade of a large tree, flicking pebbles into the water. Crabbe and Goyle stayed silent, but for once, it didn’t bother him. It gave him an opportunity to stew in his thoughts. Finally, he got bored with flicking pebbles and leaned against the rough bark of the tree, closing his eyes. It was peaceful and relaxing until he heard a familiar shrill voice.

“Hey, Draco! Over here!”

Draco sighed inwardly and kept his eyes shut. Maybe if he pretended that he was asleep, she would leave him alone.

“Draco! Vin, Greg! Hi!”

No such luck. Draco opened his eyes reluctantly to see Parkinson hurrying towards them. She looked immaculate like always; her robes were pressed, ironed, and adorned with delicate Slytherin-green stitching, and not one hair was out of place. However, no amount of pristine grooming could make her pretty. Her face had a squashed quality to it, like a pug without its endearing nature, and her dark brown eyes were hard and calculating.

“Hello, Parkinson.”

“Mind if I join you guys?”

Before the boys could say anything, she had made herself at home on one of the tree roots, sitting far too close to Draco for his liking.

“Oh, that’s better,” she said. “It’s much nicer in the shade. I’m so glad it’s the weekend, aren’t you? No more classes and free time to do whatever we want. I think they work us far too hard here, personally.”

Draco stared straight ahead, feeling her eyes boring into him as she waited for a response. “Mmm,” he answered noncommittally.

“Mind you, I also think they give us too much homework. I mean, a two-foot Charms essay, can you believe it? I’ll get bored before I’ve reached a foot. I rather think I’ll start it the night before it’s due.”

Draco thought back to the already half-done Charms essay sitting in his room next to his books and didn’t reply. Suddenly, he was missing the silence of just Crabbe and Goyle’s company.

“. . .and that research project for Herbology, too,” Parkinson was saying as he tuned back in. “Only a loser would care about how to take care of any of the stupid plants in that greenhouse. And the last time we had class in there, I broke a nail!” She held her perfectly-manicured nails away from her face, pouting at them.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” Draco asked bluntly. “Where are Greengrass and Davis and Bulstrode?”

“I dunno,” Parkinson said lightly, missing the hint. She was still inspecting her nails as if they were the most interesting thing she had ever seen. “Probably studying. I love Daphne to death, but she is _such_ a nerd. Almost as bad as a Ravenclaw or that obnoxious know-it-all Hermione Granger.”

Draco felt a twinge in his stomach at the mention of Granger. Parkinson continued to blather on, but he tuned her out, adding in an “Mmm” and an “Uh-huh” every so often to seem as though he was paying attention. There was no doubt about it: Parkinson got on his nerves. Her constant need for attention and high-pitched voice were enough to drive him insane, but she was also rather stupid and disliked everything to do with school. They were exact opposites in that respect. Draco went to the library daily to study and work. He never skimped on an assignment; if an essay asked for two feet, he’d be sure to give more. However, Parkinson couldn’t care less about her grades beyond making sure she passed. She complained loudly whenever she attempted to do her work; for every sentence she wrote, she matched it with fifteen minutes of procrastinating and a great deal of whining. He had yet to see her turn in an assignment that was fully done.

On top of everything, she was much too interested in him. He swore every time they had free time, she managed to squeeze in a conversation with him. Every time he made a comment in class, she had to respond or let him know how clever he was. As much as it pleased him to hear that his jokes were heard and appreciated, Parkinson laughed at every single one of them, even the ones that weren’t funny. She was always touching him, too, a brush against his arm here, a brief hand on his shoulder there. It drove him insane, and not in a good way.

Parkinson placed an impatient hand on his upper arm, proving his point. Parkinson’s brow furrowed and her lower lip jutted out as Draco pulled away from her touch.

“Draco, did you hear me?” she whined.

“How could I not?” he said before he could stop himself, but she didn’t catch his insult.

“I was saying that you seem very distracted.” Parkinson pouted. “You didn’t even chuckle at my joke. It was a good one, too.”

Draco willed himself not to lose his temper.

“It must’ve slipped past me,” he said coolly. “I’m a bit tired today.”

Parkinson nodded vigorously as if that explained everything.

“Oh, you must be, you’re such a hard worker!” she gushed. “You know, you should rest a little. All that schoolwork can’t be good for the brain.”

Needless to say, sometimes Parkinson irritated him so much that he thought he’d rather have Potter’s company to hers. Almost.

That evening marked the beginning of the weekend. After dinner, Draco played a few rounds of wizarding chess against Nott before heading to bed. His sleep was not as restful as he would’ve liked. He woke up in the middle of the night convinced that he had dreamed of Potter, but the harder he tried to remember the dream, the hazier it got. He rolled over and went back to sleep, and by morning, he didn’t remember the dream at all.

When classes resumed on Monday, Draco avoided Potter as much as possible except to shoot glares at him in the Great Hall and to laugh at him during Potions. He was still annoyed that he hadn’t succeeded in getting Potter and Weasley expelled. He wanted to write home and complain to his father about how the rules always seemed to fall in Potter’s favour, but after the last scathing letter, he wasn’t sure if his father would be sympathetic. At any rate, Draco appreciated the days when he managed to avoid the Gryffindors completely, though in retrospect, he should’ve known the brief lull in conflict couldn’t last forever.

On Friday morning, Draco sat with Crabbe and Goyle as usual, waiting for the mail to arrive. Soon the owls came streaming in. However, one package drew the attention of everyone in the hall. Six large screech owls were carrying a long thin package wrapped in brown paper, and they flew straight to the Gryffindor table and dropped it in front of Potter.

Draco felt as amazed as Potter looked.

“That’s Potter’s?” he spluttered. “But Potter never gets mail! He hasn’t gotten anything since the beginning of the term. The stupid git doesn’t have anybody to contact by owl.”

He watched closely as Potter tore open the accompanying letter and his expression turned from confused to gleeful. As Potter passed the note to Weasley and the boys stared at the package in wonder, a sudden unwelcome idea of what Potter had received popped into his head. It couldn’t be. . . . First years weren’t allowed. . . . But that hadn’t stopped Potter before. . . .

“Come on,” Draco said, standing up from the Slytherin table abruptly.

He hurried out of the hall, followed by a confused Crabbe and Goyle. They positioned themselves at the bottom of the entrance hall stairs, and sure enough, Potter and Weasley arrived moments later. They were talking animatedly but stopped as soon as they saw the Slytherins. Draco lunged forward and snatched the package from Potter’s hands before he could stop him, hoping it wouldn’t be what he thought it was. His stomach dropped as he ran his hands along the brown paper. No such luck.

« That’s a broomstick, » he said roughly, struggling to keep the jealousy from his face as he tossed it back. « You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them. »

Neither boy looked worried. In fact, Weasley had the nerve to grin at him.

« It’s not any old broomstick, it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand, » Weasley said. « What did you say you’ve got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus. »

Rage and jealousy surged through Draco’s veins. « What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn’t afford half the handle, » he snarled. « I suppose you and your brothers would have to save up twig by twig. »

It was worth the anger that flashed across Weasley’s smug face. Before the redhead could come up with a retort, Professor Flitwick appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

« Not arguing, I hope, boys? »

« Potter’s been sent a broomstick, » Draco said instantly, relief flooding through his veins. Professor Flitwick could sort this out.

But to his horror, Professor Flitwick beamed at the Gryffindor boys, instead. « Ah, yes, that’s right! Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it? »

Draco’s eyes darted to Potter and Weasley’s identical expressions of glee. No, no, no, this could not be happening, not again! How was Potter allowed to bring a broomstick when no other first years were allowed? The words “special circumstances” rang in Draco’s ears. What “special circumstances” could possibly justify giving Potter another pass after all the trouble he had caused?

« A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir, » Potter was saying as Draco recovered. « And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it! »

Draco stood frozen in horror on the steps as Potter and Weasley passed him and Flitwick moved on his way towards the Great Hall. He barely heard the boys’ laughter fade into the distance through the roaring of blood through his ears. What had Potter just said?

After a few seconds, Crabbe said hesitantly, “Um, Draco . . . you alright?”

“Of course I’m not alright!” Draco snarled, clenching his fists so tightly that his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. “What in the bloody hell just happened? How could I have anything to do with that Scarhead receiving a brand-new racing broom? It’s against the rules! First years aren’t allowed! What did Potter mean by that? What do I have to do with this? How come Potter always gets special treatment? Oh, Merlin, I hate him so much!”

Crabbe and Goyle didn’t respond, but it was just as well. Draco was so furious, jealous, and confused that he could barely think straight. Suddenly, his appetite was gone. Resisting the urge to scream, he turned on his heel and stormed off to the dormitory to grab his books for the day’s lessons. When he turned to see if Crabbe and Goyle were following him, they were gone, presumably to finish breakfast.

“Fat lot of good they do me,” Draco muttered to himself as he stomped to his room. “I swear all they ever do is eat. If they used their _brains_ once in a while, they’d at least have something to _say_ in this situation. _Merlin_ , I hate Potter!”

Draco couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day. He was so distracted that he caught the matchstick he was supposed to be turning into a needle on fire during Transfiguration. His embarrassment compounded when Professor McGonagall reprimanded him for his lack of concentration for the second week in a row. _It’s all Potter’s fault!_ he wanted to scream as he got up to grab another matchstick, but he knew it would be pointless. He resolved himself to taking his anger out on his new match. By the end of class, it was pointy enough to take a good stab at Potter, which is what he had been imagining as he had transfigured it.

It was as Draco headed to his room to drop off his books after class when it struck him that all of his miseries so far had happened because of Potter and his friends. He considered once again writing home and asking for advice, but he already knew what the responses would be. His mother would tell him that he was better off ignoring the Gryffindors, while his father would probably reprimand him for not acting more civilly towards Potter.

Draco flopped down on his bed and sighed. He wasn’t used to not getting his way. It was a situation that he had encountered so little that he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Normally, he would have thrown a tantrum or sulked, but there wasn’t any point of that if there was no one around to be manipulated. How did people stand it when things didn’t go their way?

After stewing in his thoughts, Draco decided he wouldn’t write to his parents and tell them about Potter unless the situation worsened. Then he would appeal to his father. It was the only thing he knew to do in a situation like this. He remembered a piece of his father’s advice during their last breakfast together: _“If there is anything the professors or the Headmaster will not solve, leave it to me. I’ll get it figured out.”_ His father’s words were comforting, as Draco trusted him more than anybody else in his life. _Father will know what to do_ , he thought.

In the meantime, Draco decided to ignore Potter. That was easier said than done, especially when Parkinson brought him the news a week and a half later that Potter had been seen on the Quidditch pitch, practicing with the Gryffindor Quidditch team as their new Seeker.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Parkinson, you know first years aren’t allowed on the house teams,” Draco had snapped at her. “Where did you hear that, anyway?”

Parkinson smirked at him. “I can’t tell you that, but I can assure you my sources are accurate. They said something about him getting special permission from McGonagall to play. I’ve heard he’s quite the flyer, too.”

Draco felt the familiar anger and envy surge through his veins, along with the burning desire to put Potter in his place.

“I wouldn’t believe everything you hear about him,” he said, turning back to his History of Magic essay. “I bet Potter only made the team due to his stupid scar. That’s the only thing special about him.”

Thankfully Halloween was quickly approaching, which finally succeeded in putting Potter out of his mind. After hearing his parents’ stories about the elaborate holiday festivities at Hogwarts, Draco was looking forward to seeing what the castle had to offer. Sure enough, when Draco went to the Great Hall for breakfast on Halloween morning, the corridors were filled with the smell of baking pumpkin. By dinnertime, the Great Hall was beautifully decorated. Carved pumpkins with wicked grins lined the edges of the hall, while thousands of bats fluttered around the flickering candles above the students’ heads.

Draco was in an unusually good mood. As he dug into his stuffed baked potato, he bragged to Crabbe and Goyle about his father's plans as a Hogwarts Governor. He was in the midst of telling them about how his father was working on banning _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ from the Hogwarts library for its positive depiction of wizard-Muggle marriage when the doors to the Great Hall flew open with a huge bang.

Professor Quirrell stood in the doorway. His face was alight with a strange wildness, and his purple turban was lopsided.

“Dumbledore —” he gasped, clutching his side.

Professor Quirrell pushed his way through the students and ghosts until he reached the front of the hall, where he slumped against the High Table in front of the Headmaster, his chest heaving.

« Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know, » he rasped.

Before Draco could comprehend what was happening, Professor Quirrell’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slithered to the floor, where he lay slumped in a dead faint.

The Great Hall exploded in a cacophony of sound. Though the Muggle-borns looked thoroughly confused, most of the other students’ faces were stricken with terror. Fear pounded in Draco’s chest. Trolls were extremely dangerous creatures, known for their brute strength and stupidity; it was hard to believe that one had found its way into Hogwarts by itself. Even the professors looked flustered and worried.

Professor Dumbledore was one of the only people in the hall who looked completely unfazed, and he had gotten to his feet as soon as Professor Quirrell had fainted. It looked as though he was yelling something, but it was impossible to hear him. He whipped out his wand and fired deafening purple firecrackers into the air until the noise in the Great Hall fell to a low rumble. When he spoke this time, his words were audible.

« Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately! »

As students leapt to their feet in a mad rush to leave the Great Hall, Professor Snape stood abruptly and faced Dumbledore, his eyes flashing.

“Surely you can’t be serious? Need I remind you that the Slytherin dormitories are _in the dungeon?_ What am I supposed to do, instruct my prefects to lead my students down there and hope they don’t run into the troll?”

“Indeed, that is unfortunate,” Dumbledore said, putting his wand back in his robes. “I had not thought of that.”

“Indeed,” Professor Snape repeated icily.

Dumbledore continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “The Slytherin students may stay in the Great Hall. I will leave a few professors in charge of guarding the doors in case the troll finds its way up here. Can somebody help Quirinus? It appears he has come to.”

Draco sat up taller and craned his neck to see what was happening. Professor Sinistra was helping a shaky Professor Quirrell to his feet, who was protesting feebly that he didn’t need her assistance. Professor Snape was watching them through narrowed eyes.

“R-really, I’m f-fine,” Professor Quirrell said, pulling his arm away from Professor Sinistra. “I j-just s-suffered a nasty s-s-shock, is all.” He laughed nervously and his face twitched. “D-don’t w-worry, I-I’ll go s-s-straight to the Infirmary. I-I’ve h-had enough adventure f-f-for t-today.”

Looking unsteady on his feet, Professor Quirrell left the hall. After a few seconds, Professor Snape turned and followed him out, his robes billowing behind him.

By this point, the Slytherins were the only students left in the hall. They were still sitting, looking uncertain as to what they were supposed to do. Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands.

“Well, you might as well finish your dinner,” he said, as if having a troll in the castle was as normal as having guests over for lunch. “Minerva, come. I would like to find the troll before it wreaks too much havoc.”

The Headmaster swept out of the hall with Professor McGonagall close behind, leaving Professors Flitwick and Sinistra to keep watch over the Slytherins. Draco poked at his stuffed baked potato. He was still hungry, but in all the excitement, his potato had become cold. He hated cold potato. Meanwhile, up and down the Slytherin table, students gossiped and whispered excitedly.

“How do you think a troll could’ve gotten in?” Draco asked Crabbe and Goyle as he reached for a fresh potato. Since they were stupid enough to be part-troll themselves, it made sense to ask them.

Goyle paused from stuffing his face, his mouth hanging open to reveal his half-chewed dinner. “I dunno, through the front door?”

Okay, so asking them would get him nowhere. Draco turned to eavesdropping on the older students’ conversations. He was halfway through his second fresh potato and deeply immersed in their speculation when Gemma Farley stood up suddenly, her eyes wide.

“Wait, everyone stop talking,” she exclaimed. “Do you hear that?”

Silence fell over the students. In the distance there was a faint roar and the sound of huge footsteps crashing against the floor. It sounded as though it was coming from somewhere above them, which didn’t make sense if Professor Quirrell had found the troll in the dungeons.

“Sounds like somebody found the troll,” someone to Draco’s left murmured.

“Or the troll found them,” another student added.

Suddenly, a huge crash shook the walls. It was so large that the candles overhead flickered and the bats squeaked and fluttered frantically overhead. When the bats’ squeals died down, they could hear that the troll’s roars had stopped.

“Well,” said Farley dismissively, sitting down and serving herself more roast beef, “I suppose that’s the end of that.”


End file.
